


The two Jokers of the Deck

by Alexander_Wesker



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (I mean Jeremiah and Jerome do love each other but... they also don't know anything better), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arkham Asylum is Terrible, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Temporary Character Death, Codependency, Dark, Disturbing Themes, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jeremiah never left the circus AU, Jerome & Jeremiah were very close growing up, M/M, Medical Mispractice, Obsessive Behavior, Pre-spray!Jeremiah, Rating May Change, Rewriting of the entire series of Gotham, Sibling Incest, Temporary Character Death, The non-con warning isn't between the twins, Twincest, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, but he is just as unhinged as his post-Spray version, from season one to five
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 111,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27606796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Wesker/pseuds/Alexander_Wesker
Summary: Once upon a time in a circus there were two children, red hair and green eyes, bright smiles and clear laughs. Everyone hated them. Now the children are men and they are just as mad as everyone always claimed, but their story is not as straightforward as it seems.They were children once, and the world let them down everytime it counted.This is the story of the Valeska Twins and how they went and became the two Jokers of Gotham.(Aka the story where Jeremiah and Jerome were closer than in canon and they got to grow up together even if Lila and Zach tried to interfere)
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska & Bruce Wayne, Jeremiah Valeska & Jerome Valeska, Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska
Comments: 390
Kudos: 90





	1. Prologue: A long, long time ago in a circus...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justanothermaniac](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothermaniac/gifts).



> Hi guys! I leave this little note here to tell you that the first twelve chapters of this story are already completed so I'll be able to upload every three/four days.  
> And that I dedicated this story to Justanothermaniac, in remembrance of those discussions we did about the Valeskas on the comments of mine and her stories. I hope she'll like this fic just as I always like her works. ^D^

A long, long time ago, in a circus, there were two children. Bright red hair and vibrant green eyes. Crystalline laughter and sweet smiles.

  
  
_It_ _hadn’t_ _lasted long_.  


  
Everyone in the circus seemed to despise them. Judging looks  were sent their way every moment, every day. Comments whispered never really softly behind their backs.  
  
_Disturbed_.  
  
_Mad_.  
  
_They smile too much_.  _Their laughter is soulless_.  
  
_Valeska_. They whispered as if their surname was an insult.  
' _That Valeska_ _gene_ _is a bad_ _one_ ', they said. ' _It_ _made them wrong_ '  
  
The first thing to disappear from the Valeska twins was the light in their eyes, distorted and broken so much that it seemed just a reflection of the sunlight, no,  of  the light of a roaring and burning fire  that  swallowed everything,  _growing, growing,_ _ever_ _growing_.

  
The twins were no different from other children, they were energetic, they loved to play. There was an ever-present tremor in their limbs as if they were preparing to  strike, like snakes.

  
Always a smile on their lips, the sweetness long gone, replaced by something a child should never have felt.

  
At just six years old, the twins had a smile capable of freezing the blood in the veins of even the  most confident bastard who approached them.  
_There was something dead in those eyes_.  
  
_Something that was slowly rotting away_.

  
Something that was slowly breaking down, _cracking_. Thin cracks that branched out like pulsating veins.  
  
  
"Jerome!" A voice – of a woman that sounded slurred – called breaking the silence of the miserable trailer. A child, a mop of red hair and sparkling green eyes –irremediably already dead– and dismissed, messy clothes as if he had hurriedly put them on, came running.

  
He didn't say a word as  he watched the  _miserable sight_ that was  his mother, her stage clothes creased,  the  zipper still too low, her eyes  glassy and  unfocused, a bottle of vodka in her hand and the smell of alcohol surrounding her like an aura. The woman  slurred out something.

  
The boy couldn't understand her, but he managed to duck just in time as she threw the empty bottle at him,  he saw her throwing herself at him, her expression twisted into something that was so angry it didn't even seem human, Jerome turned and  ran. As she shouted, "Come here, you little bastard!" 

Jeremiah watched the scene hidden behind  the bamboo screen that divided their ‘room’ from the rest of the living space of the trailer, green eyes –dead, dead, dead– watching in disbelief and fear at his drunken mother tried to grab Jerome. The boy, nervous, his hands shaking violently, grabbed something blindly. A  cane that had been left in the trailer long ago by one of their mother's 'boyfriends'. And he came as close as he could.

  
Lila, their mother, tripped over something that was on the ground,  she  never noticed Jeremiah, hands shaking and dead eyes and a small smile that folded  his lips,  as he  lifted the  cane and lowered it against  the back of her head making her unconscious.

  
Jerome stopped, looking at him with identical eyes wide open.

  
Jeremiah realized what he had done and walked away with a strangled cry, the  cane falling from his hands, and salty tears gathering in his eyes. The child ran into hiding –but the trailer was too small to really allow it– Jerome found him crouched  down  behind the  bamboo screen with his head hidden in his arms and shoulders shaking with silent sobs. In that position, his shirt had shifted to reveal the old faded bruise on his neck that was shaped like a hand. The shock Jerome felt was replaced by a seething anger at the poor excuse of a mother they had.

  
Suddenly, he realized that Jeremiah had _protected him_ , that Jeremiah had attacked the  _whore_ for him, that Jeremiah,  _his cute little brother_ , was crying because he thought he had done something wrong... when he really hadn't.  
  
"’Miah "whispered the child approaching  his twin, Jeremiah just raised his head, his eyes red and  his face wet with tears. "’ Miah, it's okay," he said, before hugging his brother.  
Jeremiah wrapped  his arms around him and resumed sobbing silently against his shoulder. “But… But… But…. _I hurt Mom_ , ” he whispered through sobs.

  
"You didn't do anything wrong, 'Miah"

  
“I acted… like  Mom's friends… I… I…” Jeremiah's voice was lost in a muffled half-cry. Jerome almost jumped at the pain he heard in his brother's voice.

  
"’Miah?"

  
Jeremiah didn't answer and Jerome just tightened his embrace trying to console his twin, pausing when he again heard a pained sound leave his lips. Almost feeling a specter of his pain in his chest, no, not exactly  _there_.

  
"’ Miah, what happened? "

  
Jeremiah sobbed, a faint, faint sound beyond his control. "It's not… it's not your fault, Jer." he whispered "Mom brought the strong man home... they... they thought it was fun to kick me like I was a ball"  
  
Jerome felt anger grow in his chest, seething, on the verge of being uncontrollable. And then the guilt drowned everything, _where was he when his little brother was treated like that? Why hadn't he known until now?!_

  
" _It's not your fault_ ," Jeremiah whispered,  reassuring him even when he was the one in pain because Jerome had failed to be there for him. "The  Ringmaster had told you  to take care of the horses... you couldn't be there... it's not your fault."  
  
Jerome's hug became lighter so as not to hurt his twin, he was seething inside but what he said was said in a soft tone: "I promise you, I'll never leave you alone, 'Miah"  
  
"You and me against the world, right, Jer?" Jeremiah whispered and Jerome could feel the small smile that was curling his lips.  
  
"You can say it  again, broski!"

  
Jeremiah chuckled under his breath and Jerome was quick to follow him.  
  
Neither child worried about their mother, passed out against the floor of the trailer anymore.

  
_Secretly they hoped she would never wake up again_.  


* * *

The two Valeska twins were hated by everyone and they hated everyone equally.

  
_Was it possible that no one in that damn circus could_ _take_ _a_ joke? _Why did they all have to be so damn boring?_

  
Jerome and Jeremiah giggled at each other as they sprinkled the Grayson costumes with  gasoline, so those fucking robins would know not to go against them, the twins thought. Jerome struck a match and threw it into the heap of glittering, beaded clothes.

  
Jeremiah barely stifled his giggles as he covered his mouth with his hands as he watched the fire, blue and then growing red, devour the fabric.  
  
The twins heard footsteps.  
They ran away, giggling like mad, their hands clasped as they ran.  
  
The next day the Graysons had made an uproar, the blame for everything was placed on the twins.

As always.

  
Although, at least,  _this time_ it really was their fault.

  
Jerome laughed like the madman they said he was as the eldest of the Graysons, Alphonse –the head of the family– held him down so the others could hit him. Jeremiah took the beating with a completely blank expression and a look that would have frozen the very flames of hell.  
  
After that they were dropped off, dumped in front of their mother's trailer, who, not caring about them in the least, was fucking a clown on the sofa, not even knowing what had happened to her children.

  
The two brothers, covered in blood, bruises slowly starting to form on their pale skin, were leaning against one side of the trailer.

  
Jeremiah had one arm wrapped against his stomach, in the illusory hope that it would at least slightly ease the stabbing pain he felt in his abdomen –he really hoped they hadn't caused him anything serious–.

  
Jerome had one side of his face resting against the cold metal, letting the coolness soothe the dull pain he felt there, his green eyes fixed on his brother.  
"It hurts like hell, but at least it was worth it," he giggled, his laughter being interrupted by a cough that caused him even more pain –he hoped his ribs were just hurt, bruised at most, and that they weren't cracked or broken–.

  
"It really was!" Jeremiah agreed "Did you see Francis's face?  _Fucking_ _incomparable._ "

  
The twins giggled in spite of the pain, their blood-smeared lips curled in a scary smile.  
  
"We are the best duo in the world."

  
"We really are."  
  
That night, many at the circus hoped the twins would die, whether it was from the freezing night, or from bleeding, or from pain.

  
But after sunrise, despite their bloody figures and the flashes of pain that bent their expressions, the two Valeskas were on their feet again.

  
_Smiling_.

  
And crazy,  _crazy_ as usual.  
  
If anyone had paid attention they would have seen how the cracks behind their gaze only got  _bigger and deeper_.  
  


* * *

  
  
Jerome moved back slightly and then struck, the throwing knife hit the wooden plank.

  
Jeremiah looked at his brother first and the knife after. "Nice throw Jer, even if...  this  would have been better" he said with a smile, throwing a knife at the photo of their mother that they had attached to the board –after making sure that no one would see them– 

  
"Show-off," Jerome  mockingly scolded him, although the amused smile on his face and his affectionate gaze made the insult null and void. 

"Oh, come on, like you weren't going to,"  Jeremiah said jokingly.

  
"You know, 'Miah, I was thinking we should start testing with some live target what do you think?"  
  
Jeremiah looked at his twin, seeming to really think about the question. A sudden smile curled his lips: "Do you remember Alphonse's daughter?"  
  
“Do you want to tie Katy to the bar?  Don’t you think  that’s a bit too much, 'Miah?" Jerome said with a chuckle.

Jerome laughed at the shocked expression that had appeared on his twin's face at his suggestion.

  
" _What_? I mean, yes I was talking about Katy but it's not her we should use,  you idiot. I was thinking of using  her cat. That  thing is always too annoying anyway "

  
Jerome gave him an annoyed look, but in his irises identical to his beyond annoyance he could see a spark of amusement.

  
" _Let's do it!_ "

  
Jeremiah smiled.  
  
  
The next day Katy Grayson found her cat dead hanging from her family's trailer. The little girl screamed until she no longer had a voice. And from that moment  onward she was never the same.

  
Jerome and Jeremiah laughed to tears hidden in their trailer.  
  
They were only ten years old. And the worst moment of their life hadn't even happened,  and yet there was still a fragment of something remotely sane in their minds on that summer day when they decided to use Katy Grayson's cat as a target.  
  


* * *

  
  
Their fifteenth birthday had been an important event that changed everything for them, for a variety of reasons.

  
First, it meant that they had made it, again, they had survived another year, together, inseparable, and that it was now only three years before they were considered legally of age, so that they could finally leave the circus, and all that concerned, behind.  
  
Second, it was the first birthday their mother hadn't given them her special gift –pick one of them, let her lover, of the moment,  beat said one while the other was forced to watch– so the two didn't,  couldn’t stop smiling about it.  
  
_And third, they had actually received a gift!_   
  
Mr. Cicero, the blind fortune teller, had given them a gift. A set of knives – _hunting_ _knives_ , not throwing  knives as the boy was used to– for Jerome and a book about the history of mazes – complete with representations of the world's most complex mazes– for Jeremiah. The two children had been suspicious at first.

  
No one was ever kind to them and they had thought the old blind man wanted  _something_ for his presents, but in the end their caution, senses on alert, ready to  strike like wild beasts to protect  one another had been useless, Mr. Cicero was simply…  _kind_ , with no  other intents behind his kindness. It had been refreshing.  
  
Leo Lloyd had tried to  _lure_ them as he  tried at every spare moment of his day. The twins had pretended they had been  fooled this time, because Jerome wanted to try out his new knives and Jeremiah really needed to vent his anger.

  
The brothers had not lost the smile that had folded his lips when the two, after years of resistance and subterfuge, finally agreed to enter his trailer for a cup of hot chocolate –which was a strange  thing to offer in spring. Anyway– just as they hadn't lost his slightly displeased tone as he said, "You  two  really are becoming  _big boys_."

  
The twins had kept an innocent expression on their faces, looking at him with large green eyes that seemed to suspect nothing. While internally they wanted to beat him senseless from the moment his sweaty hands landed on their shoulders. 

Jeremiah had stifled a laugh when Jerome nailed that creepy dude's hand to the table with one of his new knives. Jerome hadn't bothered, instead he was giggling like a maniac that had finished his prescription.

  
After his other hand was blocked as well, a series of curses left his mouth plus the promise of what he would do to them the moment he freed himself –the two 15 years-olds had found his threats repetitive after the third time he described how he was going to fuck one of them and force the other to participate– Jeremiah,  finally, had had enough and began to punch him. Hitting him and hitting him and hitting him, venting all his anger, his frustration and when he was done, breathing heavy as if he had run for miles, Leo no longer screamed his mouth was open but the pose seemed almost unnatural and Jeremiah's knuckles were bleeding.

  
Jerome had  bandaged  them and then taken his knives, wiping the blood on the unconscious pervert's shirt. They had left the trailer without saying anything, a strange pleasant feeling that sang in their blood.

  
No one had told them anything about what they had done to Leo, secretly that was their only gesture that everyone in the circus appreciated.  
  
But the most important event took place during the night.

  
Jerome and Jeremiah were asleep, both in the same bed – if the mat behind the  bamboo screen could be considered a bed but it was what the twins had had all their lives so it was fine for them– not exactly hugging but close enough feel the presence of the other. Turned towards each other, their foreheads almost  touching.

  
When they heard a noise, someone had opened the door. At first they thought it was Lila, finally back 'home' after having fun outside for a while, but the fact that she hadn't called any of them and that there was no smell of alcohol mixed with the cold air  that had just entered the trailer, had woken them immediately, Jerome's hands had run to his knives, he handed one to Jeremiah.

  
The twins waited, clutching the knives in their hands, nervously.

  
A shadow covered the dim moonlight that entered the trailer, someone had just entered their space.  
The twins tensed, exchanging alarmed glances.

  
Then the shadow spoke complaining about something in a low voice with a gruff tone: " _Take the smart one and take_ _him_ _away_ , she says. As if it were easy to distinguish who is who between these two brats."

  
It was the voice of their Uncle, Zach, Lila's brother, and one of their most fervent torturers –At nine he had taken Jerome aside and had him dip his hands into the hot soup, all because Jerome had snatched a cookie for himself and Jeremiah from the stash that Owen Lloyd kept for his children. And always when they were nine,  he had taken Jeremiah and forcing him to keep his mouth open  he had poured hot soup straight into his throat because he had dared to insult his mother,  _Lila was a whore_ and Jeremiah  _knew it_...  _it wasn't so much an insult if it was true._ – Jeremiah still remembered how the man had kicked him after, that subspecies of hot concoction had been worse when he had thrown it up than when he had been forced to swallow it by that brute.  
  
They,  their uncle and mother, wanted to  _divide_ them, the two realized.

  
They would never have allowed it, never, ever.  
  
When Zach had approached, the twins had been quick to sprint away, surprising him enough to have time to get around him.  
  
_They had to go! They had to…!_   
  
Jerome was about to reach the door when he heard Jeremiah scream.

  
"Let me  go!  Let me go!" the identical voice of his twin made him turn with a jerk, which was fast enough to make him dizzy.

  
Zach had grabbed Jeremiah by the neck, with one hand the other was wrapped around the wrist of his  armed  hand and was squeezing and squeezing. Jeremiah was kicking trying to hit him, held in the air by the hand around his neck.

  
"Shut up, you little bastard," growled the man who should have been their uncle. 

Jerome was frozen. He couldn't move as his brother continued to try to free himself, his gaze blurring and Jerome could feel the lack of air in his lungs as if they were his own.  
"’ Miah! " finally he screamed, freeing himself from the shocked trance that had prevented him from reacting so far. Jerome ran forward to Zach, to Jeremiah, the knife clutched in one hand.  
Jerome struck –and only years later would he know how close he had been to hitting a major artery when he stabbed him.

  
Zach stepped back in shock, dropping Jeremiah who collapsed to the floor, breathing hard, a hand around his neck where Zach had squeezed and held. His hand was still tight around the knife despite the purplish halo that was beginning to form on his wrist.  
  
"What?... You little psychopath!" The man shouted, his hands went to the stab wound, Jerome had given him and Zach knew he would normally charge that kid, that he would teach him what happens when he behaves like that, but maybe in that exact moment he had a vision of what the twins would be in the future, and the madness that burned in those green eyes had been too much for him too. “ _Oh, fuck it_! If Lila wants to get rid of one of you two  mad bastards,  she can do it by herself! "The man roared, leaving the trailer as fast as he could.

  
Jerome and Jeremiah were finally alone.

  
Jerome dropped the bloody knife, as did Jeremiah, the two brothers hugged each other.  
  
"Just another three years, 'Miah," Jerome whispered as he held his little brother, only two minutes younger, close.

  
“Then we'll be  _free_ , right, Jerome? We'll go and leave this, all of this behind,”Jeremiah croaked, his voice more hoarse and scratchy than usual.  
  
  
Their freedom would come two years after that promise.  
In a city known for the darkness and corruption that inhabited it.  
  
_Gotham_.


	2. Chapter I: Freedom tastes of blood and madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They would have waited, they wouldn’t have killed her if she had just… _shut up_.

The  Haly's Circus had reached its new destination.  _Gotham City._

  
While the circus performers prepared for their  acts, the two Valeska boys, now seventeen, were away from the hustle and bustle of the circus.

  
Talking to each other, their expressions so similar in the sweetness they had,  that  anyone who saw them would simply see two sweet, sunny, twins. Knowing nothing of what was hiding behind the mask.

  
"Do you think Sheba would eat  her ?" Jeremiah asked with a chuckle, his tone so soft and low that no one but his twin could hear it.

  
Jerome laughed at the suggestion "Nah, that wonderful little beast is too faithful."

  
"Yeah, you are right, but only because at least she gets fed every time she's hungry"

  
"Come on, 'Miah, don't let the whore spoil our good mood, huh?"

  
“Uh, yes. Forget it. Just another year and then we'll be free "

  
Jerome smiled and Jeremiah did the same.

  
Their green eyes met for a moment and then looked at the city ahead of them.  
Gotham was dark, even under the rays of the sun, almost oppressive, yet it was as if there was something in the air that made them feel...  _hopeful._   
  
When they returned to the circus grounds, the shows, both main and secondary, were long over, the cold night air,  that still smelt of candied apples and buttered popcorn,  was not annoying anyway  as they were used to it and the peace that was around where normally were laughter and voices was something they could appreciate. Just as they could appreciate the colored lights still on that illuminated everything.

  
Jerome whistled some tune as they walked towards the trailer.

  
Only to find it, with almost no surprise on their part,  _closed._

  
"Do you think  _our mommy dearest_ has forgotten about us?" Jerome asked his brother, squeezing the door knob of the trailer so hard that his knuckles  became white, a raging storm behind in his green eyes.

  
Jeremiah sighed “Probably. So what are we doing?"

  
"Normally I'd say we can go to  Mister Cicero’s, but we've  bothered that blind old man enough… maybe we can get a room somewhere?"

  
"And  _ with what money, _ Jerome?"

  
The only response Jeremiah received was a mischievous smile from his brother, the other redhead sighed again but followed his twin to a motel located somewhere on the outskirts of the city, far from the circus but not too much.

  
The twins rented a room for the night, it was a small room with barely decent space for the two beds that had been placed in it, but still it was more than the twins had had for a long time.

  
The only window in the room was closed and it looked like it had been forced a couple of times.  _Simply fantastic._   
  
They closed the door behind them and that's when Jeremiah noticed Jerome's slightly hysterical chuckle,  he  turned to his brother and didn't even have to ask for something Jerome hand him a slip of paper, with a phone number and name written on it. 

"Uh? So the receptionist gave you  her number so what? "Jeremiah asked not understanding what the hilarity in the situation was, it was not uncommon for someone to  hit on them so,  why he was laughing like that?

  
"’So what’?... Oh, god, 'Miah,  it’s too funny... no sorry give me a moment" Jerome replied between laughter before finally managing to stop them, he cleared his throat and then said, in a tone too high and so clearly an imitation falsetto  of the voice of the motel receptionist: "' _Bring your handsome twin too, red, we'll have a lot of fun together_ '"  
  
Jeremiah stared at his twin for a moment before understanding the implication and why Jerome was laughing so much. He rolled his eyes and snorted. "Obviously, in an entire city there must be like three people with this kink and we  meet one the first night.  _Ha. Ha. Ha._ "  
  
"Come on, 'Miah, it's not that bad"  
  
"No, Jer."  
  
"But-"  
  
"No ' _but's_ , now come to bed we have to go back to the circus early tomorrow if we don't want to hear Lila's endless drunken complaints"

  
Jerome snorted at his brother's answer and muttered something like, "Ugh, you're boring, 'Miah" as he theatrically dropped  on the bed beside his brother.  
  
The two had slept in the same bed for so long that not doing it…  _didn't feel right._

  
" _I am boring, Jer?_ " Jeremiah asked, there was a hint of something in his tone that Jerome couldn't understand at the moment, "You say  _I'm boring_ , huh?" he said, a glint in his eyes identical to Jerome's as he pulled him towards him by the shirt. “Well, since I'm so boring it looks like I'm not going to do what I was going to do, what do you think, Jerome?"  
  
Jerome's gaze fixed on that of his twin as he listened with interest. "What  did you want to do, 'Miah?"  
  
"Why should I tell you, Jer?...  _Aren't I_ _the_ _boring_ _one_ _after all?”_   
  
"Oh, come on, 'Miah don't leave me hanging, tell me."  
  
Jeremiah smiled, maliciously and then came as close as possible to his twin whispering something in his ear.

  
Jerome smiled, and his smile was so wide it was almost painful.

  
"But we'll do it tomorrow"

  
Jerome's smile fell quickly “What?  Why? You said you wanted to do it  _now_! "

  
Jeremiah looked at him with a smile, amused by his petulance "I guess the urge is gone"  
  
"’ Miah? 'Miah! "  
  
Jeremiah ignored his call and settled back on the bed, despite himself Jerome held him in his arms.

"Tomorrow?"  He then asked in a whisper.

  
"Tomorrow," Jeremiah promised.

  
After a few moments spent simply rejoicing in the proximity of the other, the two twins relaxed in each other's arms and so they dozed off.  
  
They had no idea what the world had in store for them, obviously as  if  they could ever know, they weren't  _fortune tellers_. 

Paul Cicero woke up in the middle of the night, the sound of insane twin laughter echoing around him, like ghosts of a future present, along with the sound of a  hatchet being dropped on something, causing a wet impact with each blow.

  
If only the fortune teller had understood that what he had just experienced was a glimpse of the future instead of a simple nightmare, perhaps something would have changed.  _But how could he_ _had_ _ever know?_   


* * *

  
  
Returning to the circus grounds the next day had been something the twins had done very reluctantly. It had always been, but as the finish line, their way out, became closer, they found themselves doing it with increasing impatience.

  
The  Haly's Circus could have burned and the twins would not have cared, on the contrary they would have watched it burn while laughing. Knowing it meant they would be free,  _free at last!_   
  
Lila Valeska was a rather insufferable woman, she was annoying in her best days and completely detestable in her worst. Or so it was with her children, she was incredibly charming and bewitching when she wanted to attract one of her future conquests, Lila Valeska had a silver tongue and was smart and ambitious, a snake in the guise of a human being.

  
Jerome and Jeremiah hated her, they hated her with all their hearts, just as they hated their ' _home_ ', just as they hated the sweet and poisonous voice of their mother as she blackmailed them: "It is a punishable crime yours"  she said "You know what do they do here at the circus with  _people like you_ "and of course they knew, they had seen what happened when they were children, and some of them still couldn't believe that all the artists had gathered to stone the two guilty.

  
As soon as she saw them enter, she was also surprisingly awake enough despite everything, she started yelling at them, insulting them, scolding them.

  
The twins just stood there listening, unmoved,  _undisturbed_.

  
Their lack of reaction  angered Lila even more.

  
"We would have done it too. If, and  _ it's a  _ _ big _ _ If, _ you hadn't shut us out all night! " Jerome replied in an angry snap.

  
"You would have arrived in time if you and your brother hadn't been busy fucking around." a poisonous smile like a snake bite twisted the woman's lips, her eyes focused and sharp, a very rare sight. The twins remained silent, shocked by  her insinuation... "Do you think I don't know?" After all, it's not as if you worked in the circus, like me. But you always have a few dollars with you and are always away. I wonder, who did you open your legs for first?  Was it Leo- "

  
Lila's poison ous words were interrupted by Jerome's strangled laughter as Jeremiah stood there in silence, not an expression on his face, his eyes darkened by something indefinitely violent.

  
"You're projecting yourself,  _bitch_ ," Jerome growled, a ghost of that shocked laugh that still shook his voice.

  
Lila's furious gaze fell on Jerome: “What did you call me? I'm YOUR MOTHER, you owe me respect! "

  
And it was with that sentence that Jeremiah's expressionless mask shattered into a series of hysterical giggles that shook his shoulders and sparkled in his eyes in a completely wrong way.

“Please don’t make me laugh, Lila” he said between giggles “You never were our mother. To be perfectly honest, the only good thing you ever did was getting fucked by our father. "

  
" _You!_ You filthy ingrate,”she snarled, as she took a few steps forward to face her son who was now almost  taller than her " _How dare you?!_ "  she raised a hand to slap him or perhaps to punch him, but she never succeeded.  her thin wrist trapped in the iron grip of his other son's hand.

  
Lila Valeska realized, perhaps only in that moment and, for the first time, how broken and twisted her children's gaze was. Perhaps it was only for the first time that she noticed the seething hatred in their eyes and perhaps only at that moment did she realize that her children were no longer defenseless children that she could hit when she pleased.  
Lila tried unsuccessfully to pull her hand away from Jerome's grip, tried again and again, but Jerome had always been the stronger of the twins –always in charge of doing the most degrading heavy work around the circus– and when  she tried to move  her other hand realized that Jeremiah had  blocked her  other hand.  _When did that nerdy little bastard get so strong?_

“You know, _mommy dear_ _est_ , Jeremiah and I have been waiting to turn eighteen, and let you live those few years that you have left in solitude and misery, but you! You had to. _Compare us._ _To_ _. You!_ ” Jerome growled.

  
"Hey,  _Ma’_ " Jeremiah began with a strangely light tone that seemed to suit Jerome more than him "Do you remember what you said to Uncle Zachary when Jerome and I were seven?" as he said this with his free hand he was  searching for something in the pocket of his jeans.  
  
"Jeremiah… " Lila began.  
  
“Oh, wow. So you know our names,” Jerome commented venomously.  
  
"Do you remember what you told him? It was something along the lines of, ‘ _Uh, if that's what makes you hard, Zach. You can get one of the brats, just don't hurt him too much, I need them working or Owen will complain all the time_.’ " There was a long pause after those words, Jerome looked at his brother, a puzzled look on his face. Then Jeremiah continued, his voice losing that forcibly light tone, simple and unaltered fury that distorted his features “So, don't you dare put me on the same level as  _you_ _bitch_! Not when you sold me to that goddamn pervert!  _How_ …  _How could you? I am your son! I was… I was_ a child! _How could you do this to me? How?_ ”Faster than Lila could realize Jeremiah pulled a butterfly knife from his pocket, stabbing her at every question  he asked,  at  every single word left  his mouth,  his booming, angry voice drowning out screams of the woman.

  
Jeremiah continued to deliver one  stab after another without stopping, even after Lila stopped fidgeting in their grip, not yet dead but incredibly close to  it, lost in  his fury.

  
Jerome could only hold Lila and look at his brother. His words ringing in his  head, _his little brother…_ his _Jeremiah…_ his gaze burned with rage as he landed on that miserable excuse of a human being their mother  was.  _He didn't even try to stop Jeremiah, why should he when that… damn bastard had done this to him?_

  
"'Miah…" He called out in a whisper, for a moment he thought Jeremiah hadn't heard him, but his twin stopped, his armed hand covered in red,  thick bright red,  that oozed from his fingers and covered the metal blade and stained dark the sleeve of  his sweater. "’ Miah,  _enough_. "

  
" What? _Enough_? Why should I stop? She never did with us! " despite his anger, Jeremiah was attentive enough to lower his voice so that no one outside the trailer could hear them –if anyone was  even around at that time of the morning.

  
"I know, 'Miah. Don't think that I stopped you out of pity for _her_ "Jerome's gaze fell briefly on Lila, pale from blood loss, her sharp eyes now unfocused, a familiar sight for the brothers only that this time it was because of blood loss not because she was drunk out of her mind, looking at Jerome with a desperate plea, her breath was so light it was difficult to notice. "No, I'm only stopping you because we can't kill her here in the trailer, there would be too much to clean…"

  
Jeremiah nodded briefly, the fury subsiding in his mind allowing him to think straight (part of him was embarrassed at having yelled his worst secret, letting Jerome know) "What  do you suggest we do?"

  
"You know the hill behind the circus?" Jerome asked, his twin nodded "Let's take her there,  this early in the morning no one will see us and even if they  do , they'll think she passed out somewhere and we went to get her…  _it wouldn't be new_ ."

  
That was the exact moment when the dying Lila Valeska realized how much her children hated her.  
  
"Uh, one last thing… we have to get some gloves…" Jerome added, while helping his brother to support their ' _mother_ ' exactly as they would if she had been passed out from alcohol, Lila hardly reacted. "Oh, and I have to take that hatchet too"

  
"Uh? I understand the gloves  but what do you need the hatchet for ?" Jeremiah asked,  as he  closed the butterfly knife and put it back in its place  in his pockets , not exactly bothering  to not stain his clothes, given how much blood was already on  them .

  
"You can't  be the only one to have  _fun_ , 'Miah," Jerome replied with a chuckle that was soon returned by his twin. And if Lila had had some shred of strength she would have  tried to  distance herself from her children, but she didn't have it…  as she felt herself slipping more and more into unconsciousness.  
  
When the two boys arrived  to the hill  it was not even dawn yet, perhaps three in the morning, the air was fresh and crisp, the smell of dew pervaded it. Above their heads the waning moon was beginning to set,  Lila had fainted but was not yet dead, the stretchy, straw-colored fabric of her stage costume blocking the flow of blood leaving the wound, preventing her from bleeding  out as her children carried her up the hill.

  
Without any kindness, Jerome and his brother threw her to the ground, the impact and the resulting pain was enough to wake her up, even if her reactions were slow and confused.  Her blurred eyes staring at  her children.

  
Jeremiah had a wide sadistic smile that marked his face, Jerome reflected it, the hatchet clutched in one hand.

  
“I've already had my turn.  She’ s all yours, Jer, "Jeremiah said.

  
Jerome's response was in the widening of his smile, as he passed the hatchet from one hand to the other, a pair of dark gloves covering them. Jerome raised the hatchet, Lila whispered something, a plea or a prayer, the twins didn't know and they didn't care. Jerome lowered the hatchet, drowning out the sound of the blow with a laugh that sounded as incredulous as it was amused, Lila whimpered not having the strength to do anything else, her body moving by instinct and by the force of the impact.

  
Jeremiah found the expression of pain on her face incredibly pleasurable –a thousand times more than when he had seen Jerome's when Levi, the Burmese python,  had  bit him– seeing Lila suffer was so much better than all the other times he had saw others suffer. And Jerome's incredulous, amused, hysterical laughter mingled with the sound of cut flesh and broken bones made it all the more idyllic.

  
His twin's eyes were wide open, the green was just a thin line around the pupil, and his smile was so wide it felt almost painful to bear, every blow was given in a crescendo of violence and Jerome didn't stop, _he_ _didn't stop until he tore her apart,_ her blood pooling in a large pool on the grass.

  
Jerome turned his gaze to Jeremiah: "We are free, 'Miah!  _We are free!_ "

  
Jeremiah smiled, " _The whore is dead, long live us._ " his tone said almost excessively solemn compared to the smile on his face.  
  
The twins had never been happier in their life.  
  
" _Boys_ ? Jerome, Jeremiah, is that you? "  
Mr. Cicero's voice made the smile fall from their faces, the man was alone, his little helper was not there and although he was blind, the twins knew that it would not take long for him to understand what had happened. The two exchanged a glance and then began to advance towards him.

  
They were almost sorry, Mr. Cicero had always been just kind to them, despite telling them that the world didn't care about them – it was true after all– but they couldn't risk having their freedom snatched away.  
  
The blind fortune teller looked up, keeping  his milky gaze fixed on the two  of them as if  he was  seeing them. “I understand,” was what he said. “This is how things had to go. What you did is wrong,  boys , but I'll help you "  
  
" Why ?" Jerome's suspicious question broke the brief moment of silence.

  
" Because you need help, you don't want to be arrested just after you've earned your freedom, right?"  
  
Mr. Cicero was always strangely kind to them, but at that precise moment the twins asked no more questions and followed his instructions.  
  
Nobody at  the  Haly's Circus realized what had happened just before dawn, even if they noticed the strange, genuine joy on the faces of the two Valeska twins. That strangely innocent expression on the face of those two devils gave everyone the chills. 

* * *

  
Joy that disappeared later that evening.

  
Tensions within the circus's two most important families, the Lloyds and the Graysons, culminated in a brawl that halted the  late evening show in the middle.

  
This Jerome and Jeremiah did not know, however, while they were in the trailer, which they would soon leave, finishing to remove the pink soapy from the blood from the floor –which fortunately  was not carpet or mat–.

  
“ I still can't believe it… Finally we won't have to-” Jeremiah's sentence was interrupted by a knock on the door, someone was knocking. Strange, circus folks usually tried to get in directly.  
Jeremiah wiped his hands on a dish towel that he dropped on the edge of the metal sink, before lowering the sleeves he had rolled up to avoid dirtying them with the water and bleach they had used to clean the floor.

  
Jerome went to open the door as he put on his jacket, looking as if he was about to leave when he heard a knock on the door.

  
"GCPD. We need to talk to Lila,” a man's voice said as Jerome stepped out the trailer door, Jeremiah stifled a curse as he followed his brother out.

  
" She isn’t here ," Jerome replied.

  
For a brief moment, something like surprise came into the detective's gaze when he saw his identical twin, but it was quickly  hidden away when Jeremiah asked worriedly, “Why? What happened?"

  
"Do you know where  she is?" the detective asked, the answer 'no' was unknowingly pronounced by both twins at the same time.

  
"She should have been here a long time  ago ," Jeremiah added.

  
"Are you  her relatives?" then asked the detective.

  
Jerome nodded almost reflexively before replying: "We are  her sons, I am Jerome and he is my  twin, Jeremiah"

  
"Guys, when was the last time you saw her?"

  
"This morning.  She was here when we went out to go to the bookshop." Jeremiah answered.

  
At that moment the circus Ringmaster approached, there was something nervous in his eyes as he looked at the two boys "Don't worry, boys." he began, “This gentleman is here because Owen and Al have had a fight. Your mother is _fine_ … "the two boys did not like the way his tone had changed as if he were implying something, as if he knew they had something to do with her disappearance" She is probably having some fun somewhere. You know how she is."

  
"She's gone out?" Jeremiah said with something that resembled disbelief in his tone while Jerome joined his disbelief by saying: "Without her hat, coat or  her  purse?"

  
"How could she have gone out without it?" Jeremiah added, turning his gaze to the detective, before taking  it to Sheba who was hissing inside her case. “And look at Sheba, she's upset.  She knows that something is wrong "  
  
"The snake  does  looks agitated," the detective confirmed

  
“Detective…” the  Ringmaster began, approaching the detective before lowering his voice with a slightly insinuating tone as he said “Let's say that Lila is someone who likes to have fun.  She’ll be back in the morning with  her panties in  her purse , you can be sure  of it "

  
The twins didn't even have to pretend the offended expression that appeared on their faces at that comment.

  
"But  she didn't take the  purse,  did she? " retorted the detective who seemed irritated by that insinuation as much as the twins were. The detective's attention shifted back to Sheba "How fast can an animal like that move?"  
  
"Uh, fast enough, they have a 'fast pace'," Jeremiah replied, confused not by the question itself but by the possible motivation for such a question.

  
" Let’s say,  they know how to surprise you…" Jerome added, as confused as his twin.  
  
"Let her out" the detective said.  
  
" Uh, what?" Jerome asked  taken by surprise at the words of the detective,  while at the same time his twin was saying: "Excuse me?" with  his tone  even more confused.  
  
"Let her out," the  cop repeated. 

Jeremiah went to the case before saying: "Jerome, you take Sheba,  she gets along better with you. I’ll open the case”, his twin nodded. And as said they did.

  
Jeremiah opened the case and Jerome took the reptile, which lazily coiled around his arm certain  she was safe. And then he let her  slither to the ground.  
  
Sheba's forked tongue tasted the air twice before the snake began to move. The five, the detective, the doctor, the twins and the Ringmaster, followed Sheba.

  
The big snake came up to a wagon that had the straw covered by a heavy white cloth, the snake  slithered  on the compressed straw cubes, crawling under the cloth.

  
The detective threw it  off .

  
The doctor covered her mouth with her hands at the sight of what was on the wagon.

  
Jerome and Jeremiah didn't have to fake their surprise as they saw their mother's  broken body onto the wagon, drying blood pooling on the straw.  
Their only question was how the  Ringmaster had found her, they had left no traces that could lead someone to look up the hill.

  
At that moment, reality caught up with them again as they watched their mother's slaughtered body, remembering that they had decided to take on the role of loving children. Jeremiah turned towards  Jerome,  throwing himself  in his arms, sobbing with his face hidden against his neck, Jerome held him in his arms, stifling his 'sobs', his eyes shining, salty tears falling from them. In a perfect imitation of true despair.

  
The doctor approached them, trying to comfort them with sweet words and phrases that they knew  were of circumstance.  
  
" You knew it!" they heard the detective's angry voice  say  " You knew  she was here!"

  
"No," the  Ringmaster replied immediately, avoiding the detective's gaze.

  
"Look me in the eyes," the detective said and when the  Ringmaster did it  and it didn't take long for him to say, instead: " She  was already like that when we found  her "

  
"Where did you find  her ?" the detective asked “And why did you think of hiding  her ? Didn't you think finding a body torn apart in your circus was something to report to the police? "  
  
"Jim," said the doctor, "Not in front of them," she continued, pointing to the twins still embraced  in each other’s arms. Jim, the detective, nodded. "I'm staying with them," said the doctor.  
  
The  Ringmaster seemed close to saying something, but he held back. In  his heart  he hoped those crazy Valeska twins weren't crazy enough to pull one of their stunts while the police were around and  he couldn't help but think she would be safer locked in Angel's, the tiger, cage  than being there alone with the Valeska twins.  


* * *

  
Lee couldn't help but feel  her heart ache to see those two boys so desperate. They were mourning the death of their mother, and  she  couldn't help but wonder  _what kind of monster could have done such a thing. What kind of monster could have reduced a person like this._

  
When Lee's gaze fell back on the twins, the two had stopped crying, still in a tight embrace. They were each other's support at that moment.  
By themselves they would collapse, but together they were supporting each other.

  
With a bit of difficulty, because the two  didn’t want to leave their mother, Lee managed to convince them to return to the trailer where they had lived up to that moment.

  
In a gesture of courtesy the two invited her inside. The trailer was really small, Lee noted, it seemed impossible to think that a small family had lived in there…  _happy_ , until whoever had done the murder arrived, destroying everything.

  
" The police will catch him," Lee said, more sure than she really felt "They'll catch your mother's killer,  they won't go unpunished"

  
The two boys looked at her with gratitude in the eyes, her reassurance seemed to lift a minimum of the sadness that was weighing on the two.  
  
Lee couldn't help but think that those two boys were the special kind of people who managed to remain more innocent than the rest. There was such a light in their eyes that Lee could not help but hate the monster who, by doing what he had done, had almost suffocated  it , even more.

  
The twins looked almost like angels…  _Lee didn't know how wrong_ _she_ _was._

* * *

  
  
After about fifteen minutes, maybe thirty, someone knocked on the door of the trailer. A  cop in uniform, compared to the detective who found their mother's body.

  
The twins accompanied by the doctor, Leslie Thompkins as she had told them to call  her, exited the trailer, noting that the other circus performers were also being taken to the station. One of them sent a dark look in their direction, the two were so used to that kind of looks that they ignored  it , keeping their innocent boys mask. For a split second the  Ringmaster seemed relieved to see Dr. Thompkins next to them.

  
They reached the police station where, as soon as they entered, they noticed many cops looking dumbfounded at all those circus performers with an incredulous look that seemed to say: ' _Is this a joke?_ _This must be a joke_ , 'one of the cops even said so, too.  
  
The twins were split up and sent to two different interrogation rooms. And even though they knew it was the procedure, they found it strange to be alone, without one being with the other.

  
Jerome was distracted by the strange sensation, when the detective –Jim Gordon, as Dr. Thompkins had told them his name– walked in…

  
"Tell me about your mother, Jerome." Jim asked.

  
"She is my mother. What can I say  she  is perfect. " the boy lied "Even if she was not very good at cooking" he added with a small smile, the joke managed to get a smile from the detective. Jerome was bubbling silently at the thought of having to speak well of that… _bastard Lila_.

  
“Did she have any enemies? Someone who harbored a grudge? "

  
Jerome looked down at his hands "No." He answered.

  
"Boyfriends?" then asked the detective.

  
"No," the boy replied, looking up to meet Jim's.

  
"No?"

  
“ She had…  _lovers._ Bed-mates, but…  she didn’t do relationships.  She didn't want ties." Jerome replied, feeling almost nauseated at having to talk to the detective about this.

  
"Alphonse Grayson?"

  
"Yes, he was one of them"

  
"Owen Lloyd?"

  
Jerome replied with a simple 'yes', hoping that the detective could finally stop asking him about his mother's lovers.

  
"Somebody else?"

  
"None that I have recognized"

  
"What did you think… of your mother's love life?" Gordon himself seemed uncomfortable asking him that question even if it was nothing compared to what Jerome was feeling at the moment, unease mixed with annoyance mixed with a seething anger.  _Because what would he ever have thought of that whore's 'love life'? Seriously, what kind of question was that?!_

  
The boy stifled his anger and replied, "I'm fine with it." the lie that slid on his tongue was corrosive  as acid "If it weren't for  her relationships I wouldn't be here, right?" and then added: "Sex is a healthy activity" and after saying these words  he had to hold back  his smile when  he saw the embarrassment on Detective Gordon's face.

  
The detective, however, continued with his questions, while the embarrassment slowly faded: "Do you have any other family members besides your brother?"

  
Jerome was silent for a few moments, before replying: "I only have Jeremiah now… I wish I could say that the circus is my family but…" his voice trailed off, he voluntarily wanted to attract the detective's curiosity and from  Jim’s careful gaze he  knew he  had succeeded.

  
"But?"

  
"They hate my brother and me, remember the  Ringmaster’s comment?" Jim nodded "It's always like this for our family… they hate us… always spreading false rumors about us. To make us  look like we are  the worst among them… " 

After a few moments of silence, the detective thanked Jerome for his cooperation and accompanied him out of the interrogation room. Just then Harvey was doing the same with Jeremiah. The two brothers went back to walk side by side, sitting together with the other circus performers but far from them.

  
Jim couldn't help but notice the dark and violent looks that many performers sent to the two boys.  
_Exactly as Jerome had said_.

  
"That kid wouldn't be able to hurt a fly," Harvey said softly. Jim nodded saying: ' _His brother is like that too_ '.  
  
-A few minutes before-  
  
As Jim Gordon entered the room where Jerome was, another detective, Harvey Bullock, entered the room where Jeremiah was.  
  
"Can you tell me something about your mother?"

  
“My mother was a good person, she always tried to make sure neither me nor Jerome lacked anything. She was good at many things… " he replied,  his voice a little lower than  his normal one.  Still distraught.   
  
Harvey could clearly see the affection in that boy's voice.  
The detective continued.  
  
"She had lovers, correct?"  
  
The boy nodded, whispering a ' _yes_ '

  
"Owen Lloyd and Alphonse Grayson?"

  
The boy nodded again, instinctively before replying: "Yes,  they are some of them"

  
"Do you know if  she had any enemies?"

  
"Not that I knew, and if I had known I would have protected her and I'm sure Jerome would have done the same thing"

  
Harvey was sure after talking to the boy that he was innocent. There was too much sincerity in those green eyes and there was too much sadness in his face for him to be lying.  
  


* * *

  
The two detectives started to move towards a new suspect,  after having sent the two boys ‘home’ sure that they were innocent, though they got their phone number before sending them away, so that they could contact them when they found something on the case, when a voice stopped them: "It was those two  mad bastards!"

  
“It was those two crazies! They should be locked up, "said another

  
"They have always been like this and everyone knows it"  
  
The two detectives looking around noticed that everyone was nodding at the words  
  
“It must have been them! They've always been weird, completely crazy, I say. I always thought they would kill someone… it was obvious they would kill her! " said another who without waiting for any form of input told them about all the things the twins had, supposedly, done.

  
Jim and Harvey nodded, listening intently. But despite the detail in the stories, not only did they have no evidence but the twins,  the performers  talked about were almost completely the opposite of the Valeskas they had met.  
  
Part of Jim told him that some people were good at acting but  he  couldn't help but hope they were as innocent as they seemed, instead of the living embodiments of sadistic chaos that the circus  performers were talking about. The twins he had met and talked to had nothing in common with the people the other circus performers were talking about.  
  
Jerome's words repeated in his mind: “ _They hate us… always spreading false rumors about us. To make us_ _look like we are_ _the worst among them..._ "

  
And Jim couldn't believe that some people were  _that_ _cruel_ , that they could harbor such hatred that they tried to put the detectives in charge of  the case, against the twins so that their arrest was  sure .

  
Jeremiah and Jerome weren't going to last long in jail and that was why they were trying to frame them with the stories they were telling them.

  
Jim promised himself that he would find the murderer of the mother of those two sweet boys for them.  So, he looked at the other circus performers, to clear any doubt they had that those two boys were truly innocent.


	3. Chapter II: Drop the masks, the show is over.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Twins have a little heart-to-heart. In the meantime Jimbo works on the case… He thinks he has just found the culprit… or, to be more correct, culprits.

"’ Miah? Why have you never told me? " Jerome asked once he and his twin had returned to the trailer –as they were the only ones not detained in the entire circus (since they were the only ones who weren't suspected). That question had stayed in Jerome's mind the whole time since he'd heard his brother's angry outburst.

  
"What?"

  
"You know _what_ , 'Miah. Why have you never told me? "

  
"… It wasn't important," Jeremiah replied after a few moments of silence, his gaze fixed on the floor, while, in a nervous gesture, he crossed his fingers in the most diverse and complicated ways he could.

  
"’ _It wasn’t important?_ ’" Jerome repeated incredulous, as he approached his twin who was sitting on the sofa not meeting his gaze "How can you say it wasn't important?"

  
"Jerome, listen to me it wasn't important… I would have told you if it was… you know I would have"

  
" _Lila!_ Lila handed you over to that beast Zach and you think it's not important? What the hell, 'Miah?! " Jerome didn't really want to talk to his brother like that, and he knew he didn't really have the right to be angry if Jeremiah didn't want to tell him anything,  after all his brother had every reason to not wanting to talk about  _that_ with him, but the fact that he insisted it was nothing… bothered him as much as it hurt him.

  
“Can we stop talking about it, Jerome? It's not important… it's  _not_ , so let's stop talking about it, okay? " Jeremiah's voice was lower and fainter than Jerome had heard it in a long time.

  
And it hurt him to be the one who was hurting his brother, but… why did he have to insist that  _'it wasn't important'?!_   
“Stop saying it's not important! It is,  _it is_! That bastard… "Jerome stopped abruptly, the very thought that horrified him and made him feel more and more angry, he wanted to kill Zach, he wanted to slaughter him, to tear him apart for what he had done  to his darling brother "… and our mother  she allowed it… don't say it's not important…! For- "

  
"He wanted you!" Jeremiah interrupted, his green gaze fixed on his and Jerome could see every single facet of emotion behind those irises identical to his.

  
But the shock, his shock… not Jeremiah's, this emotion was his  own and only his own , which dominated everything: "What?"

  
“Zach wanted you. He thought  I was you… "Jeremiah whispered, lowering his gaze once again" He wanted you… and I couldn't let him hurt you… I couldn't… he confused us, I didn't correct him… okay? I didn't want him to hurt  _you_ … and I didn't want you to feel guilty about it…  _okay_? Now… please… please Jerome… can we not talk about it anymore?  _Never, never, never again for the rest of our lives?_ "  
  
Jerome didn't say anything for a long time and Jeremiah knew what was going through his brother's head, he knew he was taking all the blame now, he knew Jerome was hating himself for not noticing anything, for not doing…  _nothing_ .  
And his guilt was visible in his green eyes, even though his face remained blank. Then Jerome nodded, and his voice was much more serious, much less light than usual when he said, "Okay, Jeremiah…" and  he knew his twin could see the ' _I'm sorry,' Miah.’_ , the ‘ _I should have protected you_ ',  the _'You shouldn't have taken my place… you shouldn't have suffered in my place_ ' which Jerome didn’t utter.

  
Neither of the twins said anything for a while until Jerome broke the silence again, with a promise made in a low voice, a dangerous fury burning in his gaze. “I'll kill him, Jeremiah. And it will be  _slow_ , and it will be  _painful._ I'll make him regret being born,  and that’s  a promise " 

The specter of the psychotic smile that was bending his lips while making that promise had the bitter taste of a fate already set in stone.  
  


* * *

  
  
Jim couldn't believe it, looked at the file with the test results two more times to make sure he hadn't imagined it… but no.

  
The traces of DNA found on Lila Valeska's body corresponded half to that of Lila herself and if they had had the opportunity to compare it… they would have confirmed that it was them.  
It had been Jeremiah and Jerome.

  
The two boys who looked so sweet and innocent, they had…  _killed their mother in that brutal way._   
  
The Detective couldn't help but wonder why he was so upset by this.  Why the fact that those kids were guilty was upsetting him so much. Maybe it was because they had played the part of the victims so believably that somehow he couldn't help but compare them to Bruce.

  
He felt compelled to protect and defend them even though they were now almost legally  considerable as adults .  
They had deceived him,  _they had deceived him_ .

  
Every little thing they did, every little thing that made him think he was helping them, had been just a carefully done gesture to earn his sympathy. To make sure at least one of the detectives was absolutely on their side.  
Suddenly he could picture them much better in the role the circus performers had described to him.

  
And yet…

  
They must have had a motivation for that violence, no one was so brutal without a reason.  _No one_. Especially not someone who could prepare an act like the one the twins were putting out to pass as innocent.  


* * *

  
  
Jerome was much more relaxed than he had been in his entire life, not a single worry in his mind, for the first time in what seemed  like …  _ever_ .  
No one yelling at them to get up, still upset by whatever she had taken the night before.

  
Nobody bothered them.

  
There was  _peace_.

  
And very soon all that remained of Lila would be buried and with her all their problems, the case would be closed, perhaps unsolved…  _It didn't matter._

  
He and Jeremiah had been careful and even if they had found the hatchet, the mark he had engraved on the handle, under the advice of Mr. Cicero, would have misled the police, making them believe that Lila had been killed by a satanic sect famous for the its human sacrifices.

  
A sudden thought occurred to the redhead and he found himself stifling a chuckle.

  
His attention refocused on Jeremiah who was still sleeping, so peaceful, so…  _perfect_.

  
And he didn't think so just because they were identical, a reflection of each other.

  
Jerome was a lot of things but he wasn't a narcissist…  _more or less_.  _Maybe just a bit._

  
"Hey, 'Miah, are you awake?" he whispered, not really wanting to wake him up if he was sleeping.

  
"It's a bit difficult to keep sleeping when an idiot keeps staring at you," muttered his twin in response, opening his eyes, still sleepy and for once he too seemed…  _relaxed_. Neither had a particular intention of doing anything else today. Unless Gordon and his braves found something, of course.

  
"Uff, an ' _idiot_ '? Me? I'm offended, 'Miah,” Jerome replied, as he put a hand to his chest with a theatrical gesture, his tone echoing the excessive tones of a soap-opera character.

  
"It's too early, Jerome… what do you want?"

  
Jerome chuckled at his twin's irritated tone, earning an ' _almost_ slap' from Jeremiah who wanted  him  to shut his mouth so he could go back to sleep.  
"I was thinking, don't you think we should bring a bouquet of flowers when they bury the bitch?"

  
"Uh-uh" was all Jeremiah said in response before starting with "Yeah, so what?"

  
"What do you think if we brought our dear mother something beautiful and meaningful?" 

"What do you have in mind, Jerome?" asked his brother, sleepy but intrigued.

  
"I was thinking of a beautiful bouquet with: Aconite, orange lilies, yellow carnations, coltsfoots, cursed buttercups, maidenhair fern, mock orange flowers and lemongrass"

  
Jeremiah seemed to think for a moment on what his brother had said, and then laughed. "We should hope no one knows the language of flowers then," he replied, still laughing. The joy in his eyes, made his irises look like emeralds.

  
"Yeah, but at least it will be one last respectable ' _fuck you_ ', don't you think?"

  
"Absolutely," her brother replied, "God, I wanted to make her suffer more," he added later.

  
"Tell me about it," Jerome breathed as he  neared his brother,  closing the little space that had been between them . His head resting against his chest, one arm around his waist. Jeremiah's right hand that by instinct and habit  went  to caress his hair and the left placed on his arm.

  
And then Jeremiah began with his story, his gaze distant looking into a world of violence that only he could see. “We could have taken your knives with us. We would have pinned her to the ground, pinning her wrists with your biggest knives, in the perfect center, cutting the tendons but not the veins, and with the thinner bladed ones we could have carved her skin, cutting it off slowly like when peeling the skin off a snake. One limb at a time for each torture she subjected us to…"

  
Jeremiah's voice was soft, fascinating as he described those tortures, Jerome could picture them vividly, he and Jeremiah bent over Lila, their hands covered in blood –even though he knew a good hunter could skin their prey without spilling a single drop of blood and his brother was _the most skilled of them_ – she fidgeting, writhing and screaming, crying… like they did when she hit them. And just like her they wouldn't stop, shedding more and more of her blood, Jeremiah's hands on his as he helped him through a particularly difficult incision, his contained chuckles mingling with his own...  
"’  _Miah…_ "he whispered, in a tone that in intensity and desire was more a moan than a whisper.  
The bloody description Jeremiah was telling stopped, the hand in his hair dropping just below his neck, Jeremiah's beautiful green eyes now focused on him.

  
Jerome moved higher, his height matching his twin's identical height again, their faces less than a breath away.

  
They were so, so close. Jerome's gaze dropped to his twin's lips.

  
_They were already so close, what was wrong with wanting to be even closer?_

  
Jerome hesitated only for a moment as his gaze met Jeremiah's again.  _'Do it'_ his eyes said, the pupils slightly dilated.  
  
'Miah really was  _ beautiful _ .  
  
Jerome was about to close that derisory distance that existed between him and his twin, his other half. When a sudden trill broke the silence, making the two jump and canceling  _whatever was the moment_ that had been created between the two.  
Jerome recognized the ringer of his phone in a fraction of an instant. Murmuring an insult to anyone who decided to interrupt the moment between him and Jeremiah, he went to pick up the phone and answer it.  
  
It was the GCPD, Jerome cleared his throat and then answered in the most resigned and sad tone he could simulate.

  
The detective's response almost took him by surprise.

_  
Why were they summoning them to the department?  
Why so early?_   
  
“Of course, Detective. We'll be there right away,”was his reply, before the call ended.

  
Jeremiah gave him a curious look.

  
"They summoned us to the GCPD," Jerome answered the twin's unspoken question.  
  
A flash of surprise flashed in his brother's eyes "Do you think they have discovered something?"

  
“Hopefully, they just summoned us to tell us they can't solve the case. Or else it is because they found the hatchet and therefore that sect of Satanists. They can't think it was us, they have no proof. "

  
Jeremiah nodded, then he too got out of bed and started getting ready.

  
It didn't take long for the two young Valeskas to be ready to go to the police station.  
  
No worries in their minds, they could never have imagined that their masks had been uncovered and that they were walking unarmed in the lair of the wolf ready to devour them. 

The two boys immediately realized that something was  off the moment they arrived in the district. An officer  in uniform, a little too young, a little too agitated –his gaze sliding on his service pistol every other moment– led them to one of the cells in the department lobby, while the other circus performers were being led out.

  
Each of the members of the Haly's Circus gave them the exact same smile, as if they all knew something they didn't know.

  
That feeling only increased when they saw Mr. Cicero being taken to an interrogation room, which was at the end of the corridor to the right of the cell where they had taken them.  
  
_But Mr. Cicero would never have betrayed them right?_

  
He was the only one who had ever cared for them, in his own strange way, with small gifts for their birthdays, and a warm and quiet place to hide when Lila and her lovers became too much for them. Mr. Cicero would never have sold them to the police.

  
_Right?_   
  
"Do you think…?" Jeremiah began but did not even complete the question that his twin replied:  
“No, of course not. And I'm not saying this just because he's the only one who has ever treated us as people… but also… well, you know what the other reason is "  
  
Jeremiah nodded. And the twins remained silent, waiting. After about ten minutes, the same policeman who had led them to the cell came to take them, to take them to the interrogation room, the same room where they had seen Mr. Cicero enter.  
  
Mr. Cicero was there, of course, and so was Detective Gordon. Dr. Thompkins was also there, in a corner, she seemed…  _nervous_ , like the agent who had taken them first to the cell and then to the interrogation room. Avoiding their gaze every time she noticed them look at her.  
  
"Evening, boys," said Gordon, there was a small smile on his face –which disappeared soon after the took notice of it– "Please, take a seat, "he added then, pointing to the two chairs placed next to Mister Cicero. “You remember Mister Cicero. Of the sideshow. "  
  
"Yes, Detective," the twins replied as they took their seats. Both confused, but still not worried, not really. "Good evening, Mister Cicero," they said then.

  
"Good evening, Jerome, Jeremiah," he replied, his voice strangely more empty than usual, and his expression was almost…  _saddened_. It was really unnoticeable, but they had known Mr. Cicero for years now, so it wasn't that hard to notice.  
  
"Do you know why you are here?" the Detective asked.  
  
The twins exchanged a look before focusing their attention on Detective Gordon, a hopeful expression on their face. "Did you find out who killed our mother?" Jerome asked, his voice was soft and sweet.  
  
"You two killed your mother," the detective replied  
  
" _We?_ " Jeremiah said, his tone frail, his expression showing nothing but his disbelief.  
  
"You killed her on the hill, Mr. Cicero let you clean up in his trailer. He told you to scratch those satanic symbols on the hatchet and throw it off the bridge." 

For a few moments neither of the twins said anything, but it didn't seem like they were two criminals caught in the act, no, they looked like innocent people falsely blamed, upset by the accusations that were being  moved against them.

  
"Detective, this is _absurd…_ " Jerome said, his voice was no higher than a whisper, his eyes were misty as if he were holding back tears. "And quite frankly offensive"  
  
"But it's the truth," Gordon said, even though the two were so credible that they were beginning to make him doubt even the evidence. Those three lived in a trailer. There were a thousand and one ways in which their DNA could have accidentally ended up on their mother's stage costume…  
  
"How can you be sure?" Jeremiah asked, his voice weak and broken as he spoke “Were you there by chance? Did you see us kill our mother?! Because I assure you, Detective, we would have never done it. _We love her_. "  
  
"Really? From what I've heard from everyone else we've questioned, yours was, at best, a _problematic_ situation,” Jim argued even though he was really beginning to doubt everything, how could they be so credible, it had to be true… _it had to._  
  
"The others hate us!" Jerome retorted and the boy was crying as he said those words. “They hate us, they hate us! They would love to see us behind bars even for something we didn't do! "  
  
“Jer. Jer, it's okay,” Jeremiah whispered, approaching his brother sitting next to him, to hug him in an awkward side-hug that had to be uncomfortable with a nob sticking out from the back of the chair digging in his side, yet he held his twin as best as he could trying to calm him down.  
  
Jim looked at Lee for just a moment, and she too, who was as shocked as he had been at the forensic results, had that same doubt in her eyes.  
  
Nobody was that good at acting, nobody. Plus Jerome told him how much the circus people hated them, he told him and again, he believed their words.  
  
"We found your DNA on your mother's costume," Jim finally said, but his voice was no longer so stern, nor so cold. He was unsure though he tried to appear as if his resolve was just as steely as before.  
  
Jeremiah looked up from Jerome, who he was still holding in his arms and said, his voice surprisingly steady, “So what? We helped her so many times to put on that costume… I mean it was the least we could do for everything she did for us. That thing was too tight for a single person to put it on and zip it up after, so Jerome and I helped her. Is that enough, Detective? "  
  
  
The answer was logical, almost _obvious_ to tell the truth. Jim wondered why he hadn't considered this possibility before considering the twins guilty. _God, had he really blamed those two boys for killing their mother? Because now, now all his irrefutable proofs seemed mere proofs of circumstance._ _Now it just seemed that he had sided with everyone who had tried to ruin their lives._  
He had no other evidence other than what he had presented, there were no fingerprints, there was nothing that the twins had not explained. Even the cryptic words that the fortune teller had told him appeared… _fake_ in the light of the twins’ words.  
He was seriously blaming two innocents. By questioning them as if they were guilty.  
  
"The only thing I don't understand… is why Mr. Cicero should have helped you" he said after a few moments of silence, no longer believing that the two boys were guilty but wanting to let them know that last information… "I think he’s your father, boys” He added.  
  
That seemed to attract the attention of the two, something indefinable in their green eyes. It made Jim almost shiver, it looked… _wrong_ , discordant with how the twin were presenting themselves.

  
"What?" Jerome asked, his voice still weak but firmer than before.

  
"It's not possible," Jeremiah said simultaneously.

  
"No, no… Our father was a sea captain," Jerome continued 

"His name was Sven Karlsten, he died at sea" Jeremiah added  then looked at Mr. Cicero, "He can't be our father."

  
Only in that instant Jim recognized something frantic,  _manic_ in their eyes. Something broken that had just, irremediably,  _shattered_.  Soon after they…  _changed_ , for there was no other word for the complete flip their demanour made.   
  
“If… if… if you were  _our father_ … why? Why didn't you ever help us?! " The look Jerome gave the blind fortune teller almost seemed to burn, so much anger was in  it. "You were there.  _You were there!_ Instead, you let us believe in a fictional character! And  you never intervened! "  
  
"I'm sorry, boys," replied Mr. Cicero  
  
"No! You're lying! You don't… our mother- "  
  
"Your mother was a cruel woman, she often treated me unkindly, but she once loved me in her own way" interrupted Mr. Cicero "And she loved you very much, that's why she gave you a better father".  
  
This made the two boys laugh in disbelief.  
“She…  _loved us very much_ ?” Jeremiah repeated, his green eyes so wide as he stared at the old fortune teller that the crooked smile that curled his lips faded into the background. "She loved us, you say," he continued incredulously,  coldness creeping in his voice like venom .  
  
"Of course, she loved us so much that up to fifteen she beat us  almost  to death every other day!" Jerome growled.

  
"She loved us so much that she took her lovers into the trailer and let them do whatever they wanted with us!"

  
"She loved us so much that on our fifteenth birthday, she tried to have Jeremiah kidnapped!"

  
“ _That damned whore never loved us_! Shit, the only good thing she did was be stupid enough to confront us unarmed! "  
  
Jim could only watch that exchange, the innocent mask of the two boys shattering  completely … showing them  _what_ was hiding underneath.  
  
"Is that why you killed your mother?" the Detective asked once he recovered from the shock.  
  
The two boys turned their gaze on him and Jim almost shivered at what he saw in their eyes, in their expressions, gone were the two innocent boys… now there was only  _them_.

  
"You know, Detective, me and 'Miah never gave a damn about what  she did" Jerome replied in a hiss "We've always been more  like :' _Okay, Ma ', be a whore. Be a drunken whore even. We don’t care.’_ But she, oh, she had to keep pushing and pushing and  _pushing_ …"  
  
"Jerome and I have been very patient with her" Jeremiah added, the crooked smile on his lips had become wider mirroring his brother's maniacal one,  yet not completely, his looked far colder than his brother’s "But you know, everyone has their limit and she has reached,  and gone over ours  so many times. But Jerome and I would never hurt her… that wasn't a lie. She was our only family, but then she compared  _us_ to her. Me and my twin, can you believe it!?" his voice had risen in tone until it reached a hysterical peak in the last part. "She had to wait just another year and we would have gone away, we would have gone away…"  
  
  
Jim listened to their confession carefully, although he was shocked by their change in attitude and behavior. Yet despite this, he had to stifle the  _'I'm sorry, boys_ ' he was about to say.  _They were the culprits, not the victims… so… why couldn't he help but feel sorry for them?_   
_Those boys had had a difficult life, it was not surprising that they had done what they did and yet… No, that did not justify what they had done._

  
Murder was not justifiable, _it never was_.

  
The two boys hadn't said a word, they weren't even looking at him anymore, their identical eyes chained to each other while they giggled. 

Mr. Cicero at their side seemed frozen, shocked, and yet sorry…  
  
Jim turned to Lee.

  
“Call Arkham. Tell them they have two new patients on their way. "  Jim preferred to think that the boys were insane that to accept that they had been… completely sane while doing what they had done to their mother, to do what they had done while they lived in the circus.

  
Lee almost ran out of the room, and it was that movement that caught the attention of the two brothers.  
  
"Aw, the doctor is gone?" Jerome said, that smile still on his lips, his tone a parody of a sad, disappointed tone.

  
“Aw, what a pity, were we too much for her?” Jeremiah added.  
  
Detective Gordon said nothing in response, and had to held back a shudder at the laughter that his lack of a response provoked, the detective motioned to the guard officer to take Mr. Cicero away.  
Remaining alone with the twins.  
  
"So… Detective, where are you going to send us?" Jerome asked almost with disinterest, too quiet for the maniacal and uncontrolled sound that had left his mouth not even a few minutes before.  
  
"Arkham" was his reply, curt and concise even if once again he had to suppress the instinct that told him to try to reassure those two. He knew that it wasn't fair for two that were essentially still kids to end up in a terrible place like Arkham Asylum, but it was better than the alternative, in Arkham they’d be cured.  
  
"The… _Asylum?_ " there was no trace of a smile on their faces. "We are not crazy." they added together.  
  
And perhaps it was seeing the two boys' reaction to his words that disturbed him even more. The way Jeremiah had lost any sign of expressiveness on his face, closing off so much that it seemed like he had turned into a statue his gaze fixed and immobile and the way in which Jerome's smile had returned, dark and so wide that it must have hurt, the way his gaze was fixed, staring right at him, like that of his twin. They were _terrifying_.  
  
When the Detective got up to leave the interrogation room –once the other agent was back– Jerome waved at him, the smile still on his face, miming a ' _bye,bye_ ' without saying anything. Jeremiah was still completely still.  
  
The guards from Arkham arrived quickly, and Gordon couldn't help but think they were… _over-armed_ for just two boys, _even with all the charges the twins had, four grown men were surely enough to stop two teens. They surely didn’t need to have that many firearms on them_. It was as if they expected to be dealing with wild beasts instead of two teenagers.

  
Jerome and Jeremiah followed without questioning, without even fighting as they handcuffed them.  
And after taking their mugshots –Jerome smiled maniacally, his eyes twinkling in a way that was all wrong; Jeremiah expressionless, his gaze fixed as if he could see your soul even from the photo alone.– the two boys were taken away, put into an armored van that bore the Arkham Asylum logo on its side. The asylum guards connected the handcuffs to metal rings placed on the metal floor of the van using chains.  
  
Everyone that had been unnerved by their presence, theirs switch from practically normal people to…  _whatever-was-that_ , drew a sigh of relief to see those two madmen being taken away, but Jim felt a sort of guilt weigh on his chest.  _They were… so… so young, Arkham would have ruined them._   
  
Jerome and Jeremiah in the van to Arkham, on the other hand, didn’t feel any form of agitation, no, they were happy. Lila was dead and yes, they had been arrested and were being taken to an asylum, but they knew that nothing would ever be worse than their mother.

  
The twins laughed and didn't stop even when one of the guards told them to shut up.  
  
The Asylum had better be ready.

  
_The Valeska twins were not the type to submit to_ _anything or_ _anyone_. 


	4. Chapter III: Welcome to Hell (GC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Twins arrive in Arkham and get to know some new people…

Arkham  Asylum was…  _depressing._

  
At least the main building facade was, the twins  hadn’t yet had the  _luck_ to go inside.

  
The building had the characteristics of an old mansion, divided into three wings, built in the Gothic style –Jeremiah was pretty sure it was Gothic (architecture had always been his passion, after torture, usually of small animals… rarely  someone, and his passion in the knowledge of poisons)– the facades were streaked with black smudges caused by the exhaust fumes coming from the city, the window panes opaque and in front of these there were repainted bars but which showed signs of rust on the bases.  
  
Even thought the two boys hated the circus,  they were already beginning to miss its colors. At least even if it was filthy, the appearance was better maintained than that of this  _psychiatric hospital.  
_   
The twins were finally led inside the Arkham by a new escort, the inside of the building was not much better than the outside, the corridors were narrow, not claustrophobic but not even suitable for a hospital. The white-painted walls had subtle shiny streaks of condensation.

  
Someone should have checked the insulating layer of the walls, that was certain.

  
The two were led through several corridors and a couple of flights of stairs. Their destination was a room that in some ways resembled that of a dressing room, minus the lockers and even if there were some behind a desk, at which two women were seated.

  
The twins were told to put their belongings in the box on the desk. But they didn't move, they had nothing of their own, apart from the clothes they were wearing at the moment and with the handcuffs it would have been really complicated just to try to take them off… _not that they would_.  
  
A guard barked at them the same thing they had heard before.  
  
"We  are handcuffed,  _genius_." Jerome snapped to the guard, as his twin told them they had nothing but their clothes.

  
Two guards, stationed at the asylum –they wore a different uniform than the ones who had brought them there and were not heavily armed as they were– approached, then searched them to make sure they had nothing with them.

  
Jerome didn’t fail to notice how his twin had stiffened as soon as the agent's hands had rested on him, Jeremiah had never liked others to enter his personal space, to touch him… only Jerome could without causing any reaction… and now he also knew _why_.  
  
Finding nothing, the guards removed their handcuffs, while one of the women at the desk told them to put all their personal items in the box. The two did so, annoyed by all the looks on them, as if they could really hide something… They had even searched them, _where the_ _hell_ _would they have hidden a weapon?_  
  
They were given the outfits for the asylum patients, more like the striped clothes of an inmate. The 'uniforms' suited them almost fine, a little tight on the shoulders, but they fit better than most of the clothes they had owned up to that moment.  
  
The guards handcuffed them again and then led them away from the hall, and down a couple of floors, into a new hall, the Common Room, on the way they explained the rules they should follow inside the asylum, the two boys did nothing but listen and follow them. 

From the little light that came in through the opaque windows it wouldn't be long before the time they would be taken to their cells came. Honestly, the twins wondered why they had wasted their time taking them there if in less than a few hours they would be taking them to their cells.  
  
Not many noticed their entry, largely too addicted to their prescriptions to notice anything or too lost in their delusions. The few who noticed them seemed quite disinterested.  
The twins found one of the few empty seats and sat down there.  
  
"Wow, it's like being back in high school, only worse," Jerome hissed at his brother.

  
"And how can you tell, Jer?" Jeremiah answered "We have never been to high school"

  
"True" accepted his twin, his gaze scanning the room and its occupants "But it's exactly how I imagine high school  to be, only with fewer lessons and more medicines trying to make you a vegetable"

  
Jeremiah nodded, and then joined his brother in the discreet analysis of the room. As they tried to figure out who was smart enough to be dangerous and understand how dangerous  they could be for them.  
  
At that moment someone approached them, a thin man who had a small smile on his face and didn't seem to be really seeing them. "Oh, I see double again," the man said.

  
The twins looked at him.

  
"Uh… we're  _twins_ …?" Jeremiah said, not quite sure what he should say.

  
"Twins" repeated the man, before saying it twice more "You have  really beautiful  colors"  
  
"Thank you," they both said, stifling the insecurity in that statement.  
  
The man leaned on the table, crossing his arms and resting his head on them, watching them carefully, or at least he seemed to be watching them carefully. "White as snow, red lips, shiny eyes" the man whispered "Arsenic. Beautiful, so beautiful. Are you  _mine_ by chance? "  
  
" _What_?" that shocked exclamation left Jeremiah's mouth before he could think about it.  
  
"Don't worry about Dobkins," another voice said, another patient had approached them, he seemed like one of  the more lucid  patients. The man they now knew was called Dobkins still looked at them strangely attentive to their every movement, before he smiled at them, sweetly, and then walked away talking to…  _nothing_. The other patient approached 'their' table. "He's schizophrenic, so if he says something strange, well…"  
  
"Ah, that would explain the 'seeing double' thing," Jeremiah commented  
  
"I like it," Jerome said instead "A little creepy but I like it" and after that sentence he chuckled, Jeremiah looked up at his brother's behavior but smiled. "So what's your name,  Mr.  scary-looking but-not-so-scary- in- behavior?"

  
Jeremiah stifled a chuckle at the way his twin had phrased the question.

  
The man did not seem bothered by this and smiled at them: "Richard Sionis," he said, extending his hand as if waiting for one of them to shake it.

  
Jerome was the first. "Jerome Valeska and this is my twin," he grinned, an arm around Jeremiah's shoulders.

  
Jeremiah followed Jerome. "Jeremiah Valeska and I'm the one who had to put up with this idiot  since the beginning. " 

Jerome moved his arm away from Jeremiah, before theatrically bringing his hand to his chest and saying, " _Idiot_ , 'Miah, what have I ever done to deserve this title?"  
  
Jeremiah smiled "Oh, you know you did, you idiot," he replied amused, the twins looked at each other for a moment before giggling.  
  
Richard watched their exchange amused and that's where he decided. "I like you guys." he said drawing the attention of the two "You have a nice way to do it. And you are fun. You could really cheer up the people around here "  
  
As soon as Sionis pronounced those words the twins behavior changed. Jerome smirked, eyes sharp and a dangerous light in his eyes and Jeremiah smiled coldly as a glacier, his gaze just as dangerous as his brother’s."And why would we?" the two asked and Sionis had not expected such a sudden change, the way in which that light, almost innocent, appearance they had had until then had disappeared, now they seemed much more dangerous, much more… _suitable_ for the red line sewn under their number.  
  
“Very simple, guys. Everyone has a role in here and who doesn't have it… "Richard waved his hand as if he were slitting someone's throat." You have to make people in here like you. You have to make friends, allies. And it looks like you'll fit in well here if you follow me "  
  
"So, let me get this right, you talked to us for ten seconds and want to become our friend?" There was a hint of suspicion in Jerome's tone as he said those words.  
  
"More or less. Look, I'm a _millionaire_ ," and as he said this Sionis smiled arrogantly –in a way the twins didn't really like– "I can get you anything you want. And it's a promise that I intend to keep. "  
  
"And what do you make of it?"  
  
" _Respect_ , of course," the man replied "Do you want to be respected, guys?"  
  
The twins nodded and Sionis's smile widened a little.  
  
"Good. Then make others like you, as I said being on my side is the best way but we have already agreed on that. Which is good, since nobody in here cares what happens to us inmates. The guards will not move a finger even if a fight starts and if someone dies, they will only come to take the body away "  
  
Instead of the shock Richard had expected the twins smiled, a low and, frankly, disturbing chuckle that shook their shoulders slightly. "Just like home," he heard them say, before one of them looked directly at him. "So why are they here if they don't do anything?"  
  
It took Richard a moment to reply, “They are here for the reputation. They don't care what happens here, not really. They are too scared to do anything, but back home they can boast that they work here, guarding us ' _bad guys_ ' "an amused smile and a hint of mockery broke into his face, before he said:" Come on, guys, you I introduce my friends "  
  
And having said this, he led them to almost full table where Dobkins was also.  
  
"Guys, these are our newest additions," he said, pointing and letting them introduce themselves.  
  
"Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska, at your service," they said simultaneously, making a synchronized half bow. Then adding a " _Not really_ " softly with mischievous twin smiles on their faces. The two sat down, side by side, in some of the few free chairs left at the table.  
  
One of the occupants of the table, curly hair, evil eyes and disturbing smile introduced himself: "Robert Greenwood"  
  
"Aaron Helzinger" The second to introduce himself was a tall, bald man who looked up just shyly from his hands. 

"Dobs!" Dobkins exclaimed happily as he watched them, intently for less than a moment, leaving the twins wondering if they  had just imagined it.   
  
"And obviously you know me" Richard concluded, taking what the twins assumed was his usual place "I was explaining to the twins what it takes to survive here"  
  
"Yes, you don't want to end up  like Jamie," Greenwood said  
  
The twins  sent a questioning look to Greenwood>.  
  
Richard discreetly pointed to one of the patients on the other side of the room who was more collapsed on the chair instead of sitting on it. " Jamie, he thought he could go up against someone who was stronger than him, he failed… and  now he is more of a vegetable than a patient " then he added: "Don't be like  Jamie"  
  
The twins didn't say anything for a while, Jerome looked  at the man for just a moment more then mumbled under his breath: “Yeah, no,  I like my brain as it is, I don’t want it scrambled.”

  
"So how did you end up  in  here?" Jeremiah asked  the others, after nodding at his twin comment.  
  
"I love to tell my story," Greenwood replied with a grin.  
  
"Of course you do," Sionis commented, looking slightly disgusted, but Greenwood ignored him.  
  
"I killed and ate a dozen beautiful women and terrorized the city while I was looking for more," Greenwood said, his gaze distant, he licked his lips as if he were thinking about the taste of the 'meals' he had eaten.  
  
The two twins, who until then had been sitting next to him, moved away a little, without being noticed.  
  
"I killed twenty-five people," Sionis said, interrupting whatever Greenwood was about to say.  
  
" Why?" Jerome asked  
  
"I was bored," the millionaire replied.  
  
Jerome laughed and Jeremiah chuckled under his breath at the answer.  
  
"I killed my family with my bare hands," Aaron said with a small smile on his face.  
  
"Oh. And why?" Jeremiah asked curiously  
  
"I didn't like them"  
  
"Trust us, we understand," Jeremiah said, putting an arm around the shoulders of his twin who nodded.  
  
"What did  you do, Dobs?" Jerome asked curiously  
  
“He poisoned and raped people. Saying the  Voices told him he had to do it or that they would kill him,”Richard  answered for Dobkins.  
  
"Oh, I wasn't expecting that… he doesn't seem the type," Jerome commented.  
  
"That explains the arsenic comment though," Jeremiah said shortly after his twin.

"And what have you two done?" asked the cannibal  
  
Two cruel smiles appeared on the identical faces of the twins.  
  
"Well, we lived in a circus with that alcoholic whore our mother," Jerome began  
  
"And even as children, we used to look at her and think: ' _my god, how much I want to take a knife and cut your throat_ ', you know?" Jeremiah continued the smile on his face sudden and too wide, cold as the dead look in his eyes  
  
Nobody at the table said anything as they listened to the two boys.  
  
"She was all a: ' _You_ _two_ _are failures_.', ' _I wish you were never born_ ', ' _I should have drowned you in the tub when you were_ _babies_ '. That whore. " Jerome continued.  
  
“And she always took her lovers to the trailer. Letting them do whatever they wanted to us. _What a bitch._ " Jeremiah added, his voice was flat, but a hint of anger was smoldering in his eyes, then he smiled: "Fuck, Jerome, do you remember when I stunned her by hitting her head with a cane? How old were we? Five?" he chuckled  
  
"Six. But of course I remember it!" Jerome answered laughing "Or that time when she was yelling at me for something _she had done_ and you almost stuck one of my knives in her thigh, no, no, wait you did! But she was too stoned to remember, we convinced her that Levi had bitten her. She allowed us to skin that snake after, do you remember?"  
  
" _Good times,_ " Jeremiah commented, his cold smile taking a slight seraphic note."Then one night the whore tried to get me kidnapped, and take me away from you"  
  
"It took a while but in the end we made up our minds" said Jerome "And we decided to get rid of the bitch once and for all"  
  
"We took her up a hill and tore her to pieces," Jeremiah added. "With a hatchet."  
  
"There was so much of that blood, perhaps the only sweet thing she had," Jerome finished.  
  
The two were laughing at that moment apparently forgetting that that there were others with them.

"Wait, Jer, do you want to tell me you tasted  her blood?"  
  
"Uh-uh"  
  
"Oh, come on why didn't you tell me? I would have done it too! "  
  
"What can I  say , when we get out of here we go to see where they buried her so you can try?" Jerome suggested with a smile  
  
The disgusted look on Jeremiah's face was enough to provoke another laugh from his twin. "No _!_ Come on,  _we're not that crazy._ "  
  
It was the muffled half laughter that that last sentence caused to remind the two of the presence of the others.  
Despite the amused smiles on their faces, they all had something akin to respect in their eyes.  
  
"I like you guys," Greenwood said "I don't think I'd eat you, even if I had the chance"  
  
"That explains why you have the red  line," Sionis said.  
  
"Oh, speaking of which, none of those assholes in the escort have explained to us what it means… so uh, would you mind explaining why we're the only ones here with this thing?" Jerome asked "Uh, please?" he then added in a falsely innocent tone. 

Sionis smiled. “The red line is given to the most dangerous inmates. Or the most disturbed ones in here. " he then said "You don't see others because technically here we are all level two criminals, dangerous yes but not enough to need to be marked with _…_ _that_ "  
  
"Wait a minute… why we, who killed only our mother… yes in our own fucked up way, but only her, have this _thing_ when neither you nor Robert here have it?" Jeremiah asked.  
  
"I don't know, have you done anything else?" Sionis's words were embellished with a hint of genuine curiosity as he asked.  
  
“No… well, _yes_ , but only those of…. Circus know…”Jeremiah's voice faded as realization hit him.

  
"Those  _bastards_ ," Jerome  growled the ever-present smile on his face gone, it was almost disconcerting  to see.

  
"They told the  cops everything…"

  
" _Sons of bitches_ , as soon as we see them again… I'll open a new mouth in their throats," Jerome growled, his tone low and full of dark and violent promises.  
  
Sionis was about to say something when a guard entered, warning them all that it was time to go back to their cells, four armed guards entered the recreation room to guide the twins to their cells.  
  
"See you tomorrow,  Reds!" Greenwood greeted them. Strange  apparently the simple fact that they had tasted their mother's blood –Jerome had done it; Jeremiah wanted to have done it– made the cannibal like them.  
  
The cells of the two boys were side by side at the end of the corridor where all the other cells were located, they were not simply barred like those of the others, they were real security doors with a barred window at the top and a tiny slot  just under it.  Next to the doors were digital readers for identification cards.

  
Two guards  scanned the cards  in the readers, and the other two opened the doors, before shoving them into their cells. The door closing and locking behind them.

  
Jerome glanced annoyed at the door, actually at the guard behind it.  _What is having a little tact would have killed them? Couldn't they just let them in instead of pushing them in?_   
Muttering a soft insult and a joke that brought the smile back to his face, Jerome looked around.

  
Not that there was much to see, it was basically a room-sized shoe box.

  
Not that the lack of space bothered him that much, he and 'Miah had also shared smaller spaces… no, the thing that bothered him was… the fact that it was strangely empty,  it wasn’t like there weren't physically the bare minimums for a cell, it  was  just  that it looked…  _empty_.  
  
He wasn't used to being alone, he and 'Miah had always shared everything, it was strange to have a space for themselves…  _He didn't like it._   
  
He walked over to the wall that divided him and his twin, the wall was damp –it seemed like a recurring problem in Arkham– but he didn't really care as he leaned against it.  
  
"’ Miah? Can you hear me?" he said, and then waited, but no answer came from the other side. The wall had to be thick enough to drown out the sound.  _He didn't like that either._

  
He and his twin had shared every single moment from the moment they opened their eyes, he didn't like not being able to be with him even now.

  
He and 'Miah had always remained together, they went in pairs like a pair of gloves, like a joke and its  punchline, like the roll of drums and the hit of cymbals that concluded it, like a cobra and its poison.

  
He couldn't be alone, he just couldn't. "’ Miah? " he said again, his voice lower now. 

He knew it made no sense, that the oppressive feeling he was feeling had no reason to exist. Jeremiah was fine, he was just on the other side of this stupid wall that divided them. But he couldn't help it.

  
The boy stayed there all night, sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, oblivious to the cold condensation that wet the light fabric of his uniform.  
Jeremiah, in his cell, reflected, as in  a physical reflection of a mirror, the position of his brother.  
  
  
The twins liked Arkham, they were freer than they had ever been with their mother. What they didn't like was the fact that they couldn't always be together as they used to. 


	5. Chapter IV: Don't wake the two sleeping snakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Twins second day in Arkham is not as boring as it could have been...

Those two boys were surprisingly creepy for two seventeen year-olds.

  
They were surprisingly disturbing even for level three patients.

  
When Agent Palmer and his colleagues from the armed escort went to get them they expected to have to wake them up as they did the other patients, but no.

  
The twins were already awake, wide-open green eyes staring at them the moment the small window in their cell's armored door opened.

  
One of the two smiled maniacally, the other had a crooked smile on his lips.

  
And Agent Palmer could only justify his colleagues for their nervousness around those two, and how their hands immediately went to the tasers, as soon as the two had stepped out of their cells.  
  
Honestly how two seventeen year-olds were level three patients was a question he had asked himself when he heard from their internment, but seeing them… it wasn't that unreal, there was just something about them, something that made him uncomfortable, something simply…  _wrong_. But luckily the two boys didn't seem to want to cause trouble, following their directions without questioning.  
Their green eyes were surprisingly clear, they didn't look sick,  nor insane, not at all. But then many level three seemed lucid until their murderous psychoses hit them.  
  
One thing that  didn’t escape the agent was how as soon as they began to walk the twins took each other by the hand, they were very discreet and if he had not paid attention to them to make sure that the two were not going to attack anyone he would not have even noticed.  
  
Agent Palmer couldn't help but wonder why Sionis had paid the  Director to allow the two boys to join level two patients for breakfast. As level three normally stayed in their cells most of the time. The agent didn't say anything anyway, that Sionis paid well so he didn't really care, as long as he paid those two guys would follow the level two schedule.  
  
The twins remained quiet all the way, giggling only briefly at something they had said to each other. The sound of their laughter was cold enough to set off all sorts of alarms in his mind. But beyond being incredibly disturbing, the two 17-year-olds did nothing, following them somewhat meekly to the cafeteria where the level two patients would soon arrive.

  
Once they arrived, they led the boys through the grated gates that divided the proper canteen from the corridor and then joined the other guards on duty.

  
Their task, however, was to keep an eye on the two seventeen year-olds,  and only them, to make sure that they  didn’t do anything dangerous, to make sure that if they had a homicidal psychosis they would intervene before the situation got out of hand.  
  
Normally Agent Palmer would have thought that an escort of four heavily armed men, compared to the other guards – they had guns, in addition to tasers and  batons,  _guns_! As if the  Director were afraid that those boys would be able to overpower four grown men– to keep two boys in check was an exaggeration.  
But then he had seen their eyes. He had seen their smiles.  
  
Nobody was so happy to be locked up in Arkham.  
  
_Nobody_.  


* * *

The food in the asylum was… oddly edible, despite its unappetizing appearance.

  
But the two boys weren't sure if it was because it was really decent or if it was because after spending their whole life eating what they could find, and recovering  from bins –or stealing from circus stands– their taste was practically basic  when it came to culinary appreciation.  
  
Which was probably the real  reason that they found this food so edible despite it looking like fluff scooped out of a mattress and then drenched in water to make it gooey.   
  
Jerome plunged the spoon –which was also a fork– back into the gray, lumpy mush that was on his tray, lifting quite a bit, studying it for another moment –uh, it looked like some kind of gelatinous lump now– before taking it to  his mouth. In that exact moment, just as he vaguely registered the dull, slightly floury taste, almost oatmeal but not exactly  of  that mush, something occurred to him.

  
"’ Miah, I was thinking…"he began, his words almost incomprehensible since he still had that oatmeal in his mouth.

  
"Jerome, don't talk with your mouth full," Jeremiah interrupted him,  scolding him for his misbehavior, as he moved the grayish mush from side to side of his plate with his spoon.

  
Jerome  rolled his eyes at his twin's scolding but swallowed the gelatinous and floury lump –how could two such opposing consistencies coexist in one thing was a mystery– before speaking again. "I was thinking… Did you see the grate on the wall that divides our cells,  the one  close to the floor?"  
  
Jeremiah nodded as he ate a bite of the mush, which aside from the absurd texture and almost no flavor was quite decent as a meal.  
  
"Well, I was thinking… do you think you can get through there?"  
  
Jeremiah looked at him, remaining silent for a few moments, thinking of the grate his brother was referring to.  _It was small, but…_ “ Maybe… I'm pretty sure I can do it, but it's been a while since I tried to pass through such a narrow space"  
  
"I  see … but you will try, right?" Jerome asked, with a hopeful glow in his green eyes identical to his. "If I spend another night alone, I'll seriously  go mad "  
  
Jeremiah chuckled under his breath at the last sentence pronounced by his brother. "I'm pretty sure that the fact that we are here means that we have already ' _gone mad_ '" he said again giggling as he subtly gestured to include the whole room and symbolically the building to underline his point with 'here'.

  
Jerome smiled, but then something more serious softened his expression and he was about to say something when someone approached them.  
  
They saw his shadow before they saw who he was.

  
The two boys prepared to  strike. Like snakes tightening their coils to leap at their prey.  
  
"Are you going to finish those?"; Robert Greenwood, the cannibal of the Narrows, asked them, pointing to the two trays that were in front of them.  
  
"You can take them," they both said although in a quick  movement they took the container with the fruit jelly while Greenwood  moved  the trays along the table and sat down next to one of the twins.  
  
"How was your first night here in Arkham?" he asked, then took a bite of the oatmeal followed quickly by another. 

"Meh, silent" Jerome replied "I always imagined there were more screams in an asylum"

  
Jeremiah  rolled his eyes at Jerome's  nonchalant answer  
  
" Oh, there are. The cells of you, Reds, have such thick walls that they are  basically soundproofed "replied the cannibal, finishing one of the plates of oatmeal and starting the other. As Jeremiah took a spoonful of his fruit jelly –it was cherry, or maybe strawberry was…  _good_. Jerome did the same after a few moments.  
  
"I'll end up turning into a cow if they just keep giving us this mush," Greenwood then commented, although after saying those words he took another spoonful of oats.  
  
"A horse" Jerome corrected involuntarily "Horses prefer oats, it gives them more energy and is lighter on their metabolism…"  
  
The cannibal turned a confused look to the redhead "I thought you grew up in a circus…?"  
  
"There was an act with horses at the Haly's" Jeremiah replied "My brother and I 'took care' of the animals  mostly… we learned a few things growing up"  
  
The two boys then fell into an almost tense silence. Even  to Robert, who wasn't all that attentive to other people's unspoken cues, was clear that they didn't like talking about the circus. He could have commented on something, made them uncomfortable, but instead he took another spoonful of oats and remained silent.

  
That didn't last long though as Richard Sionis and the rest of the group joined them.  
By asking the boys the same thing the cannibal had asked of them. Jerome gave the same answer he had already given to Greenwood. To which Jeremiah added a comment about how cold, humid and monochromatic the cells were, then saying that he would love to give the walls a revival of color.  
Smiling  evilly and a bit creepily, just as his twin smiled after hearing that phrase.

  
"You have to be careful guys" Sionis warned them, although he too was smiling cruelly "If you are not careful you will end up in solitary confinement in the first week"  
  
“ Solitary Confinement, so what? They lock us in a room until we calm down, what's wrong? " Jerome answered undisturbed by the words of Sionis.  
  
"It's worse than that, we're not in a movie. We are in Arkham. They would lock you  two in a padded cell, in a straitjacket and your every meal would have so many of those sedatives that you would lose consciousness "  
  
"Do you speak from experience?" Jeremiah asked, while Jerome said, "Uh, we've been through worse at 'home'" shrugging his shoulders casually.  
  
“No, of course not. They wouldn't try to shut me there. I have too much money, I can easily convince them to change their mind when they have to "he replied, his gaze then fell on Jerome, incredulous" Have you been through…  _worse?_ "  
  
Jerome nodded, but  said nothing,  instead eating the last spoonful of his fruit jelly.

  
Jeremiah did the same, before he replied: "  At least they would feed us.  We  are used to spent weeks locked in a closet and I don't mean a closet room, or a decent sized closet, I mean a  closet that barely had room for clothes locked in there"  
  
"Why?" the curiosity in Sionis' eyes was enough for the boys to ignore the annoyance of having to talk about their past.  
  
"Mommy  dearest hoped we  would either die of  dishydration or starvation ," Jerome replied, the poison in his voice so thick it seemed to dripping from his words, poisonous and acid.  
  
“Nah, that happened  on another occasion ,” Jeremiah said. “The time I'm talking about was the time  she had an almost legitimate reason to lock us in there. We had blinded Patricia. " 

"Oh, right." Jerome agreed, before a confused expression appeared on his face, as if he was trying to remember something but he wasn't succeeding. "Why did we blind Patricia?"

  
"She looked at me in a strange way and when she realized that I didn't care she started looking at you in a strange way, so we blinded her in this way she couldn’t look strangely at any of us."

  
Jerome nodded, a small, almost silent  hum of agreement leaving his throat.  
  
Sionis could not help but look at the two boys, perhaps they weren't among the worst criminals he had known –even if he didn't know why they had the red  line… whatever reason it was it made them technically the worst, the most violent of them– but they were interesting And Richard somewhat appreciated something that distracted him from the boredom that beset him.  
  
They were  _cute_ , controlled, just plain interesting.  
With eyes hiding something so dead it made them seem empty, if not for that eternal spark of fun that made them glow.  
They were really interesting, he wanted to see them without that mask of ostentatious docility that made them look out of place in Arkham.  
  
If they remained docile for any longer, they would become boring and Richard didn't want them to,  it had been too long since something had distracted him from his boredom. From that boredom so complete that it made his nerves tingle with the desire to hurt someone, just to feel the adrenaline rush that violence brought.

  
"I understand, but you still have to be careful," he advised them. The two said a simple 'Yes' at the same time, but he could see from their eyes that whatever was the thing they wanted to do, nothing would stop them.  
  
Richard couldn't help but wonder curiously what the two boys were up to. Yes, their presence was really the most interesting thing that had happened to them in a while.  
  
Jerome and Jeremiah exchanged a grin as 'their' four guards came to get them, the two got up quietly following their commands, as they had already done that morning,  the guards already seemed too relaxed, as if they thought that the twins were harmless despite being unsettling.  _Uh, that wouldn’t do_ , thought Jerome .

  
The four guards lined up in formation, so that they could be contained as quickly as possible if they tried anything, one guard in front of them two on either side –one next to Jerome and the other next to Jeremiah– and a guard behind them.  
  
"No handcuffs today?" Jerome asked, his  calm voice seemingly without concern. Jeremiah stifled a chuckle, covering his mouth with one hand.  
  
"If you don't give us reasons to use them, no," the guard next to Jerome replied abruptly.

  
Jerome's grin broke into a smile, the guard raised his hand to the taser, as if that simple smile had put him on alert.  
“Too bad, I liked them. Didn't you like them too, 'Miah?'

  
Jeremiah nodded, a faint smile twisting his lips. "Yes, especially the sensation of cold metal against  my skin"

  
His twin's smile widened at those words, a mischievous flash in his green eyes "You're always the same, 'Miah," he commented  jokingly, shaking his head slightly –he did not fail to notice, out of the corner of his eye, how guard next to him had his hand tightened on the  grip  of the taser.

  
Jeremiah turned her face to him, his crooked smile widening, "Maybe we should give them a reason to put them back," he whispered, theatrically, perfectly audible as he  stuck like a snake, grabbing the wrist of the guard who watched his brother, Jerome  doing the same in the opposite direction. Their movements crossed but did not hinder each other.

  
Jeremiah snatched the taser from the guard's hand with a flick of the wrist and quick fingers –the same ones that had taken wallets and watches, brooches and bracelets as the circus tore away any other  possibility for the future. Jerome took the gun from Jeremiah's guard. The two boys smiled, their gaze on each other as they  avoided the guards attempt of grabbing them by moving under their arms, laughing and exchanging weapons with a throw  as they got far enough from them, like two jugglers exchanging pins.  
  
Everyone looks on them, some patients cheering on their behalf. 

Adrenaline that roared in their blood.  
  
Two guns aimed at them, the other two ready to beat them with their batons.  
  
Jeremiah could  feel laughter bubbling up in his chest, hysterical, angry…  _completely insane_. He choked  it.

  
Jerome laughed for both of them, pointing the taser at one of the guards.  
  
"I wonder how many volts this little  toy can discharge?" he said with a chuckle.  
  
"Go ahead and shoot, you bastard." growled the guard in response, tightening his hand around the handle of the baton. Too sure his protective vest would defend him from the taser.  
  
Jerome laughed coldly " Does everyone forget that I grew up in a circus?" as he said those words, his index finger slipped off the trigger, to correct his grip before  throwing the weapon against the guard's bare neck. The shock and impact of the  throw against the throat made him step back, coughing, his grip on the baton loosened enough for Jeremiah to  make it fall, or well fly from, of his hand with a single shot –aimed at the object.  
  
"Oh, it's loaded!" the boy commented, an excited light in his eyes, his trilling voice a bit high-pitched, while with a quick movement he pointed the semiautomatic at another guard.  
Chaos was around them, other guards had tried to intervene but the other patients had hurled themselves against them, preventing any intervention.

  
Laughs.

  
Shouts.

  
Growled orders. Barking from rabid dogs in uniform.  
  
_This was their world_.  
  
Adrenaline and endorphins mixed in a chemical cocktail that threatened to make the twins lose control.

  
A guard writhed to the ground, the metal tips of the taser stuck to the tender skin of his neck. Jerome behind him with an unnatural grin.  
  
"Lower your gun, Valeska," Officer Palmer ordered, his gun pointed at the boy with the gun.

Jeremiah only smiled at him, unnerving, cruel, his gaze as cold as that of a snake and dead, so dead that it led him to lower his weapon instead.

  
Palmer saw his colleague replace the pistol with the taser out of the corner of his eye,  he quickly did the same.  His colleague aimed and shot.

  
Jeremiah dodged the first shot with the agility of an aerialist doing  their aerial routine, but the second –shot by Agent Palmer as soon as the boy moved– caught him straight in the chest. With a gasp that sounded frighteningly similar to  chocked out laughter, the 17-year-old fell to the ground writhing under the electric discharge, the gun falling from his hands.  
  
Jerome lunged at Palmer with a wordless scream, whatever laughter had left his face now twisted in the deepest rage. The agent Jeremiah had disarmed with a pistol shot took advantage of the boy's carelessness to deliver his  hit.

  
The first blow interrupted the boy's leap causing him to fall to the ground, holding his side and laughing, laughing like the madman he must have been to be locked in there.

  
The second was, for good measure,  of revenge,  and interrupted the Valeska's laughter with a snap, his mouth open  but without any sound leaving it.

  
The third was for the guard the Valeska had tasered. The fourth because he could.

  
Even with blood in his mouth, which dyed his lips red, Jerome smiled.

  
The fifth blow was given with enough force to knock him unconscious. As Palmer released the trigger, stopping the discharge. Jeremiah stopped stirring abruptly.

  
For a few moments Agent Palmer was terrified that he had killed him, but then noticed the movement of his chest, light, a pinch uncoordinated by the refractory discharges that shocked his nerves. Palmer let out a silent sigh of relief.

  
The chaos stopped shortly after, the rebellious patients calmed down at the sight of the two redheads, unconscious, on the cold floor of the asylum.  
  
As the twins were taken away, everyone secretly hoped they were okay.  
  
Sionis had a smile frozen on  his face. Those two boys were surprised, violent, unpredictable… really, really interesting.  


* * *

All Jerome seemed to be able to think as he slowly regained consciousness was… _Broadway_. It was he and Jeremiah on stage entertaining an adoring crowd.  
He and Jeremiah away from the circus, finally free to live the life they wanted and were meant to live.  
  
Jerome tried to move his arms only to realize he couldn't, something was preventing him. He opened his eyes, the white light blinded him for a moment.

  
It was all white. All white with nothing to break that terrible monotony. And it was all silent, more than the cell, not even the sound of the wind whistled around. It was cold and there were no windows of any kind, not even barred.

  
Everything around him was soft, too soft.

  
Jerome stopped looking around trying to figure out what was blocking him.

  
The first thing he noticed was the series of shiny black straps, tightened to the impossible, the rigid white fabric. He tried to move his arms but realized that he could not even move his shoulders, there was too much tension.  
  
A straitjacket.

  
They had put a straitjacket on him.  
  
_What about Jeremiah? Where was Jeremiah?_   
_Jerome couldn't see him couldn't hear him. Where had they taken his brother?_

  
The last thing he remembered was Jeremiah on the floor writhing from the electric shocks from the taser.  _Where was Jeremiah?_   
  
Jerome hoped his brother was safe.  _He really hoped so._ _He didn’t know what he would do if something had happened to him, Jeremiah was everything he had and_ _the only thing_ _he cared about._   
  
In a padded cell a few feet away from Jerome's, Jeremiah regained his senses, his thought almost a reflection of his brother's thoughts, only that instead of Broadway, his first thought had been a…  _labyrinth_.

  
An underground labyrinth with walls built of reinforced concrete, armored doors that protected every room, an alarm that sounded every time the main door of the complex was opened. A path of dead ends and moving walls that led to the center of everything.

  
_Where he and Jerome were._

  
Wrapped in a purple light that smelled of extravagance, and eclecticism, and purity.

  
A perfect place just for them. _Where they could live as they wanted, where they could be what they wanted._ _Where they could…_

  
Jeremiah emerged from his thoughts and  delusions, his muscles aching from the involuntary movements they had been forced into.

  
The room around him was white, white,  _white_ … and soft.

  
Much larger than the closet in which he and Jerome had been locked as children  and too bright.  
  
It took Jeremiah only a moment to realize that something was blocking him,  and  another to understand what it was.  
A corrosive  mix of annoyance  and  amusement blossomed in his chest  at the though of being tra pped by such a thing. As if he were just crazy. As if he wasn't  _sane_ at all.

  
He and Jerome were  sane. They were, in fact, the  _sanest_ people he knew.

  
_Theirs was the face of true sanity._

  
_Why then had they put a straitjacket on him?_   
  
_Did Jerome wear one like him?_

  
_Surely._


	6. Chapter V: Solitary Confinement and Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Twins end their time in solitary confinement and meet their psychiatrists.

For Jeremiah, the  almost  two weeks in solitary confinement had passed in a confused, sickening haze of white and purple that burned behind his  eyelids . They had passed into silence broken at irregular intervals by a soft voice and overbearing hands gripping his hair or shoulders as they pulled him forward. He had no idea who owned that voice, he had no idea what exactly  they had done to him. 

There were too many moments of total black in his mind when he thought of his stay in the solitary confinement cell, whatever they put in the food, whatever drug it was… it had kept him in a state of constant confusion, of constant exhaustion, had kept him in a state where he had not been in control of anything.

And this was something he absolutely hated. Relinquishing control was something he would never do and being forced to relinquish it bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

And the fact that the effect of the drugs was still present even now that they were taking him out of the cell was irritating him to no end.

An annoying, overwhelming desire to kill someone tapped on his nerves, constant and perpetual, almost infesting, like a moth in wood.

Jeremiah thought about the labyrinth and that desire subsided.

It was funny that for Jeremiah, order was represented by that labyrinth he had built in his imagination, since labyrinths have always been considered metaphorical and psychological symbols of something complex, something with only one solution difficult to find, or confusing structures. Always used in literature to indicate madness, in fact in Middle English, the word ‘ _mase’_ then used to indicate the labyrinth, also indicated a state of ' _delirium_ ' or ' _delusion_ '. But it wasn't like that, not exactly.

The labyrinths were structures that developed symmetrically around a center and enclosed in a precise perimeter, their paths could vary in shape but however confused and random they might seem, they always followed a symmetrical order, a perfect reflection of the center that formed, there was nothing crazy about the structure of a labyrinth, just a perfect, controlled, symmetrical order.

They weren't like mazes, confused structures that branched off with twisted corridors and intersections aimed at making anyone who thought they had found the right  path lose their way, it had no center,  just a starting point  and  an exit and it was not enclosed by a perimeter  and was all around was…  _chaotic_ .

The labyrinth in Jeremiah's mind was a complex rhizome of corridors and intersections, dead ends and fake exits, a place that if it were real would have seemed more a 'maze' than a labyrinth, with apparently too many entrances and exits but of which in only a few were real, a place that only Jeremiah and his twin could cross in peace and safety. _Their personal palace_.

The mere image of that place was enough for Jeremiah to dominate that senseless and bloodthirsty instinct that annoyance and anger made him roar in his blood.

"Move, red!" Ordered one of the guards who had pulled him out of his padded cell, pulling him forward by the leather scruff of his straitjacket. Jeremiah held back a snarl as anger returned stronger than before.

Jeremiah began to walk, directing all his thoughts to his twin and their labyrinth. He had no intention of returning to solitary confinement, at least not at the moment.

For Jerome, the  almost two weeks in solitary confinement had passed too slowly, as if time had turned into a molasses of boredom. He couldn't move, not after catching the guard who brought him his meals by surprise by trying to stun her with a head butt, because whatever they put in that  grayish mush was driving him completely  _insane_ !

They were supposed to be tranquilizers but they couldn't be not with the chemical and convulsive agitation they caused him, they made him feel overly energetic, he couldn't sit still and since he was forced to be he couldn't help but  move against the straps by fidgeting as much as he could, if only to release the agitated tension that he felt taking possession of his body.

Jerome hated that cell, it was too white, too soft, too empty, too silent. He missed his brother, and besides, the faint feeling of continual fatigue that he knew was _Jeremiah's_ worried him. _What were they doing to him? Why did his brother feel that way?_

Jerome hated  isolation … yet he had to admit that it was still better than the closet in which Lila locked him and Jeremiah. Sure they were drugging him with who knows what the hell chemical but at least he wasn't in such a small space that even breathing was hard.

The cell where he was currently locked up was always illuminated, as opposed to that wardrobe whose interior was completely dark once the doors were closed. Just thinking about it, just remembering how scared –not by the dark (that was a stupid fear that he and his brother never had) but by the fact that maybe this time Lila would really forget about them, that they would die in there – it was him and Jeremiah every time he locked them in there, just thinking about it, Jerome felt his hatred for that  sad excuse of a  mother that they had had, peak  in a way he hadn't  felt since he and Jeremiah had killed her.

He almost wanted  her to be still  alive so that he could kill her again, he would strangle her this time, or maybe he would break every bone in her body until not even one  was left intact. Jerome chuckled breaking the silence of his cell as horrifying, stimulating images of violence filled his mind.

And that was how the guards who came to take him out of isolation had found him, his green eyes wide open, his pupils dilated –from the chemical  excitation caused by the drugs –, a smile on his lips as he giggled at nothing, his eyes fixed on the padded ceiling of his cell.

When they pulled him out he was still laughing, a faded trace of blood on his face –under the nostrils, smeared on his lips like lipstick –. They made him walk through the corridors of Arkham with his straitjacket still on.

They threw him back in the cell, the other cell the one with the armored door and the scanners for the identification cards of the guards. They took off his straitjacket only at the last moment… and it almost seemed that theirs was an afterthought, as if they had thought of leaving him with that thing  in there too.

Once alone, locked up in his new-old cell, Jerome waved his arms for the first time in what felt like a long, long time. They tingled a little, but soon that unpleasant sensation disappeared.

It didn't take long for him to hear a metallic, scratchy noise in the silence.

The boy turned his attention to the strange noise, noticing that it came from the grate on the wall.

_Clank_

After that dull thud, Jerome walked over  to the point from were the sound came , stooping to see what was happening. A mop of disheveled red hair identical to his was the first thing he noticed as his brother made his way through the space that seemed impossibly tight for a human body to pass through.

“Jerome, a hand would be welcome. You know if you want to help me" these were the first words Jeremiah addressed to him, after two long weeks in which they had not even been able to see each other, his tone was sarcastic and irritated, even if the sound of the words was a little drawn out, almost slurred, as if something was messing with his twin's usually perfect diction.

_Now he knew why Jeremiah was so upset._

Jerome went to help his twin, helping him to get away from the claustrophobic space he had slipped  through to enter his cell.

"Ugh… I completely underestimated how wide that grate actually was," Jeremiah commented, starting to get back on his feet, when Jerome lunged at him, squeezing him in a hug and pushing him to the ground by the simple force with which he had launched himself against him.

Jeremiah didn't seem irritated by this, instead wrapped his arms around his brother  smiling at him.

Neither of the twins said anything for a few minutes, their gestures were enough for them to understand each other. So that they would hear that ' _I missed you_ ' that neither of them uttered. Not even the chill from the concrete floor they were lying on  seemed enough to force them to move.

Green on green.

The twins continued to smile at each other. The manic air in Jerome's eyes matched the glittering light in Jeremiah's. Their breath one and the same.

Jerome's hands now intertwined with his brother's, his legs on either side of his twin's hips.

Jeremiah had his lips  bent in a sweet smile and his eyes slightly clouded by whatever had been given to him while they were in solitary confinement.

“They'll leave us in here for a couple of days,” Jeremiah said, almost conspiratorially. “Until whatever they gave us has run out. Do you know what that means, Jer? "

"That we are alone for a while and no one will disturb us," Jerome replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes "And our cells are soundproofed," he added with a grin soon returned by his twin. Jerome's expression then changed to a curious one as he bent more over his brother, barely any space between them "How did you force the grate?"

"I loosened the screws with the edge of a buckle from my straight-jacket"

"And how did you get it?"

"Well, firstly the leather was quite old and secondly the _dear_ guard that brought me here did love to push me at every fucking step of the way, so I took advantage of that when he pushed me in my cell" Jeremiah replied with an amused smirk on his face.

" You are so  _clever_ , ‘Miah "

“You are too, Jer. You just don’t push yourself enough” Jeremiah said, smiling at him this time almost softly. In a way that made Jerome feel all warm and happy.

" Aw, ‘Miah you’ll make me blush if you keep sayin’ such sweet things.”

“Well it wouldn’t be for a lack of trying. I do love to shower you with praises, brother _dear_.” Jeremiah said a smirk on his lips and a more purpousful drawl in his voice. Making his voice sound so arrogant and posh that Jerome couldn’t stop the laughter it caused him. _Jeremiah arrogant or rich-kid like posh? That would happen the day Hell froze over._

He laughed until his head was light from lack of oxygen. The only thing anchoring him to reality, Jeremiah's warm hands on his hips, providing him with the stability that his crazy laugh was undermining.

"It wasn't that funny," Jeremiah muttered, looking almost embarrassed.

"It was,'Miah _,it was_." Jerome said once his laughter subsided. "Now, however, about the fact that we're alone for a while… Do you want to have… _some fun_ , Jeremiah?"

Jeremiah's smile was the only answer he needed.

* * *

When, a couple of days later, the guards came to take Jerome –for his first interview with the psychiatrist assigned to him– Jeremiah had long since returned to his cell, the grate re-positioned in its place.

Jerome was relaxed and calm, not even the thought of having to meet a 'mister nobody' who believed  they could judge him just because  they had a degree was enough to tear him away from that state of happiness that was pervading him.

Sometimes, even if he would never admit it, he understood why his mother was so addicted to sex (though he would hardly define what he did with Jeremiah as ‘sex’, it was more touching and grinding that actual… sex, but they were still trying to see what they liked and what they didn’t like) –as she was with drugs and alcohol, but those were vices Jerome would never approve of–  those were only rare times and for most of the time he was sure that, in reality, his state of complete bliss was due more to who he was with than to the act itself.

A hint of irritation, however, interrupted his good mood when he found himself in front of the door to the room where he would meet 'his' psychiatrist.

To his surprise, his psychiatrist was not… well, he was not what he had imagined, no middle-aged man with goggles and a know-it-all face. No, she was a girl –she looked almost too young to already have a doctorate– with big blue eyes and straight blonde hair pulled back in a neat but not overly formal bun.

Initials and a surname were sewn onto his white coat: 'H. Q. Eccels'. The girl gave him a small smile, which seemed genuine rather than just courtesy.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Jerome," she said, her tone was soft and Jerome didn't find it as irritating as he thought he would. "I'm Doctor Eccels, but if that makes you more comfortable you can call me Harley"

* * *

While his brother had his very first session, Jeremiah was in his cell sitting on his cot, bored to death. His mind ran between one thought and another, because if there was one thing he seemed to  be overly capable of , to his great annoyance, was the ability to think too much when he had nothing to do.

He heard the armored door of his cell unlock, the sudden sound pulled him out of his thoughts. He looked up.

On the threshold of the door was one of the agents of their old escort, only now he was not wearing a helmet and the light smile that curled his lips was too much like Jerome's than something normal _and wasn’t that strange?_ , a distorted version because that was not their face.

“Are you sure you can handle this yourself, Palmer?” Asked someone, Jeremiah couldn't see from his perspective.

"Everything will be fine, Tortuga." replied the escort agent, Palmer apparently, speaking to his colleague. "Valeska. Come out, "she said then looking at him.

Jeremiah did as told. And agent Tortuga –a woman in her thirties, Hispanic origins, black eyes and hair– took back her identification card, before leaving, but not before throwing a worried look at her colleague.

Jeremiah followed the agent warily, after all he knew he could take on this guy and probably even kill him if there was the need to.

“So… where are you taking me to?” Jeremiah asked trying to sound more disinterested than he actually was.

Palmer didn’t answer immediately. “To your doctor, of course. They scheduled yours and your brother’s sessions with the same schedule… it was simpler apparently.” the man said, telling him even more than he would have expected.

Jeremiah relaxed a bit in knowing where they were directed though not by much, he didn’t trust that too-smiley agent.

Jeremiah’s doctor was… much what the boy was expecting, an old man, maybe in his late-forties, with overly cured hair to hide the fact that they were receding with age, greenish eyes and a fake friendly smile on his face. On his white coat were sown the letters: T. Lemming.

“I’m Doctor Lemming, and I will help you understand the reasons behind the actions that led you here, and to help you to better yourself” the man said, with the most boring voice and tone Jeremiah had ever heard. “Please, Mr. Valeska take your seat.”  
  
Jeremiah gritted his teeth at the condescension the doctor was displaying but obeyed. _It was too early to get himself into solitary confinement again._


	7. Chapter VI: The Good ol’ Switcheroo.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After only a few sessions with their psychiatrists, Jerome starts to get curious on why Jeremiah is so set in hating his doctor. So he proposes an idea...

“Jer, do you think that killing Lila has awoken some kind of… I don’t know, killing instinct?” Jeremiah asked out of the blue, breaking the silence, so tranquil like he was asking him about the weather all the while laying down on the cold damp concrete floor of Jerome’s cell, his arms crossed behind his head and his legs propped up against the metal structure of the bed.

Like he was laying down on a plain of grass instead of a closed off semi-dark cell.

_It really was a quite endearing sight._

Jerome thought a bit about his twin’s question, before shrugging. “I don’t know, I don’t feel all that different. Why?” 

Jeremiah turned his head slightly, giving him just a side glance. “I’ve been feeling like I want to murder someone at least seven times this week.”

“One for each day of the week?” Asked Jerome smiling widely and chuckling a bit.

Jeremiah smiled. “Yeah, something like that. It’s mostly Lemming the one I want to kill.”

“Oh?” Jerome came closer to him sitting down near him, with his legs crossed. An expression of genuine curiosity on his face.

“He is the most boring person in this place, he must be!” Jeremiah exclaimed, not caring about keeping his voice low, since as they had both seen nobody outside the cells ever noticed, a sour, definitely irritated expression on his face. “I mean he is all ‘ _When you killed your mother, how did it make you feel?_ ’ and ‘ _Tell me about your brother’_ like I haven’t already told him how much I hated the bitch, and about how you are basically the only thing keeping me sane here!” 

“How sweet of you!” 

Jeremiah smile returned at Jerome’s word. “Yeah, well it’s true.” he said “But about the doctor, he just drones off with the same questions. And I don’t know how, ereyesterday he decided that he knows ‘ _what’s wrong with me_ ’ and, hear this, apparently what’s wrong with me, _it’s you_ ! That’s crazy right? If it wasn’t for you, I don’t even think I’d have made to seventeen… Plus what does that even mean? Honestly, he’s lucky I haven’t yet got the guard, that Palmer guy, to let me go in his office without handcuffs.” Jeremiah paused for a moment, his eyes glinting in the way they did when he thought of acting his darkest thoughts and violent desires. “Or I’d have stabbed him in the throat with his own pen.  _Repeatly_ .” his voice got low and dark, in a way that normally would make Jerome shiver with need but right now Jerome’s mind was still too stuck on what the old doctor had said to catch up with the present. “Jer? Jer, are you okay? You are so silent all of a sudden, you are never silent.” 

Jerome snapped back to reality in hearing the worry in Jeremiah’s voice. “Can see why you’d hate him, ‘Miah.” he said, his own tone too flat for his liking. “Has he… Has he said anything else? About me and you?” 

“He _has_. He hasn’t shut up about us since he had his enlightment.” Jeremiah answered, too caught up in his venting to notice how flat Jerome’s tone had been, though he was _feeling_ that _something_ wasn’t right. “He says I am obsessed with you, which isn’t true I can think of things that aren’t strictly correlated to you, that I am to dependent on you, which okay maybe that’s true, but why doesn’t he try to grew up with an uncaring bitch like our mother and then tells me if he doesn’t get attached to the only person that treats him like a human being.”

“Hey, hey, ‘Miah, ‘s alright. No need to get all glossy eyed.” Jerome said, hugging tightly his brother, that had since he had started talking sat up from laying down. Jeremiah hugged him back just as tight if not more.

“Then he… he got this brilliant idea.” Jeremiah muttered, his voice muffled a little against his shoulder. “He says that we should be divided, that it would make us saner… And that’s such a stupid, fucking idea! We are not crazy, and if I am not with you, then… then I’ll probably go completely mad… we are inseparable, you and I. Like a… like a pair of gloves, or… or light and life…” 

Jerome tightened his embrace, whispering soft words of reassurance into his twin’s ear, as Jeremiah droned on and on about how indivisible they were. His dear brother,  _his Jeremiah_ , hadn’t had a moment like this in a long time, since the day Lila and Zach actually tried to divide them. And the more he heard Jeremiah mumble and fumble on his words, more panicked at each word that left his mouth, the more he got angry, furious even with the old bastard that had even just suggested the idea.  
That had thought to divide them.

They had been together since their first day on this Earth, they would be together till their last. And whomever tried to get them separated would be stopped, yes, stopped in any way possible.

“He wont do such a thing, ‘Miah.” Jerome whispered, promised, his eyes as cold as winter. “We wont let him. In fact I’ve an idea...will you listen to it?”

His promise was all it took to stop Jeremiah’s panicked rambling, his twin ended their hug and looked up at him. “I’m listening”.

* * *

Switching their uniforms and acting like the other was the easy part of Jerome’s plan. 

It wasn’t like they had never done this, when they were younger they switched place more often than not. Sometimes to take off a load of work from the other if one of them wasn’t feeling well, or to impede their Uncle to torment just one of them. 

In fact they had done that so many times that at six, Zach had just started beating both of them the same exact way so to not have to worry much about who was who. Same with Lila.

She had tried to drive a wedge between them, by electing Jeremiah as her ‘ _sweet baby boy_ ’, she had tried to make him her little perfect child, by dressing him up as a little nerd with glasses and all. It hadn’t lasted much, as Jeremiah hated those dull clothing, and those stupid glasses that made him so different from Jerome. He didn’t even need them so he didn’t see the point in putting them on.

Lila’s plan to divide them had been a failure from the start, but at least they had got something out of it. In the form of all the books she let Jeremiah take and things that they had learned from them.

Back to the present, the twins were now in the Recreation Room, with the second level patients, since Sionis was apparently paying to have them there with them. Many of the more lucid or just half-lucid patients were basically swarming the boys, treating them both as celebrities and idols, for the show they had given them three weeks ago, now, and asking when there would be the reprisal.  
As apparently nothing was more entertaining that seeing four grown, fully-armed,  men fail so pathetically in containing two teenagers.

Even Sionis was singing their praises, saying that he hadn’t been that entertained in a long time. Saying that he would surely repay them for that show.

Which was something Jerome had hoped for.

Jeremiah, dressed as Jerome, went to the table were Sionis and some of the rest of the group were, sitting on the bench facing Sionis.

“Uh, hey, Richard. Do you know the old guy they assigned to my brother?” He asked.

Sionis looked down, –and wasn’t that irritating, Jeremiah had to mentally count down from twenty to not act out from his irritation–, on him. An eyebrow raised in question and curiosity glittering in his dark eyes. “I do. Why?”

“Well, the old geezer has upset my twin, so I was thinking there is any way in which we could both go into his office, you know for a little talk…”

Sionis smile grew wider. “You and your brother must have loved your stay in the Pit, if you are so eager to go back there.” he said, Jeremiah shrugged, muttering a ‘Yeah, well maybe” like he wasn’t trying to be heard, when it was the exact opposite. “I could help you both talk with the good doctor, but you have to do something for me, yes?”  
  
“What?”  


“Near dear Dr Lemming office there is a breaker that controls the electricity of this entire wing.”  
  
Jeremiah nodded.

“Tell your brother to turn it off, and I’ll make sure to tell your escort guard to leave your cell ‘accidentally’ open. Do we have a deal?” 

Jeremiah nodded once again, a wicked smile curling his lips, in a quite freightening way, judging by how it made the other patient scatter away when he walked.

“so?” Jerome asked in a whisper, when Jeremiah went back to that which in some way had become ‘their’ table, drawling out the ‘o’.

“We have a way to get both to Lemming’s office, of course, you’ll be there first, dear brother of mine. Be sure to leave me at least a piece to chew on.”

Jerome laughed. “You make it sound like, we are gonna eat him, ‘Miah.”

“Maybe not eat him, but if you charm Palmer just right, we’ll have a knife to cut him up into many tiny little pieces.” Jeremiah said, a cruel smirk on his face “Besides he is so old that probably the only thing he is good for is soup.” 

Jerome cracked into another smile before it devolved into a fit of chuckles, too unlike Jeremiah who was the more controlled between them, but Jeremiah soon followed, in a Jerome’s fashioned, cackling laugh. 

They did attract some attention but neither of them cared enough to stop.

* * *

When the recreational hours, before  their sessions, or to be precise Jeremiah’s session as he got to meet with his psychiatrist more than Jerome did, as he apparently was deemed, for some reason unknown to the twins, the stabler between them, ended, Jerome and Jeremiah were almost trembling with anticipation. 

Jerome couldn’t wait have his hands on the presomptuous bastard, and while he hoped to manage to convince the guard to give him his knife, he was also thinking of what else he could use in case he didn’t. He’d probably actually use the doctor’s pen against him just as Jeremiah had suggested. 

_ Who knows it could be fun. _

In the meantime as they waited, he and his brother talked through the grate. Jeremiah’s cell wasn’t all that different from his, Jerome noticed, the same bleak, gray walls shiny with condensation, even the utilities were in the same spot. Maybe the only difference were the scratches near the slit-like window on the part closest to the roof. He asked Jeremiah if he had noticed them, and his brother answered affirmatively. 

Both wondered for a bit who could have reached that far up the wall, soon devolving from actual possibilities to the most outlandish thing they could think of.  Which Jerome won with his half-theory, half-joke about a man-bat living hanging on the roof by the exposed pipes. 

Jeremiah was still laughing at the absurdity of his idea when Palmer arrived.

Jerome quickly told his brother before standing up. The heavy, metal door was unlocked a few moments after.

“Valeska. Come out.” the man said, that little smirk, that Jeremiah had told him about, bending his lips.

Jerome followed, to his surprise, Palmer didn’t handcuff him as Jerome’s own escort guard always did.  _Uh, the staff really thought that Jeremiah was less dangerous than him? And thinking that he had been the one to take a gun and train it against one of the guards._

Oh, well. That meant that he had more of a chance to actually convince Palmer to give him his knife. He just had to get what part to play to get the man’s pity.

“Never seen Lemming met one of his patients so much, as he does with you.” Palmer said, both curious and seemingly worried. He also seemed quite at ease in talking with him, which he shouldn’t have, as Jerome’s own escort guard always told him to ‘shut up’ when he tried to talk with him. Jeremiah didn’t seem to have this problem with Palmer.

“Does he now?” Jerome asked, just as curious as ‘his’ guard had been.

“Yeah, and to be honest, seeing how little Arkham does their background checks for the employees. I’m quite worried.” Palmer answered, slowing his steps to have a little more time to talk with him. “I mean, he has never had, patients as young as you, and suddenly… he is so interested? You may be a murderer, an insane one at that, but, yeah, you don’t deserve to be in danger.”

Jerome looked at Palmer, strangely touched by the fact that, even though he thought that Jeremiah was insane, which he wasn’t, he cared for his brother. “Oh...uh, thank you?”

Palmer gave him just a smile. Then stopped briefly, before walking again, passing him something, Jerome’s eyes almost widened in surprise when the guard gave him his knife, all by himself without Jerome having to to a single thing. “I know I shouldn’t arm a dangerous patient, but… I can’t let you go there and keep my conscience clear if something happens when I could have stopped it.”

Jerome said nothing, hiding the knife as best as he could. Palmer didn’t break the silence walking slightly faster, just as he should have been.

Jerome wondered what kind of lies had Jeremiah fed to the guard, if the man was so worried to arrive to the point of giving a ‘ _dangerous patient_ ’ a weapon to defend himself. Whatever it was had worked, and Jerome couldn’t stop but think about the fact that his brother really was an amazing liar when he wanted to.

The first thing Jerome noticed as the neared Lemming’s office was that the breaker was basically just a little left from the door, and that if he timed it right he could have, turned it off quite simply while Palmer was opening the door to the office.

Though that meant that the guard was also near enough that he could simply turn it back on if need be. Unless Sionis had paid him to not do it… It was possible, and it was Jerome’s only bet for it.

So he acted. When the lights turned off, Palmer didn’t even react, instead just ushering him in the office with a slight knowing smirk. _Yeah the guard was definitely on Sionis pay roll and wasn’t that worried of losing his job in the circumstances of Lemming’s demise during the chaos_.

Lemming was worried, almost shrouded in darkness.

“M-Mr. Valeska?” he heard him ask, his voice trembling. Jerome smiled not saying a word, instead taking the knife out of his sleeve. The old doctor appeared to have noticed something maybe the glint of the blade. “That’s… How did you…?”  
  
“Well, doc, let’s just say that, I don’t like when people try to get my away from my brother.” Jerome said, a smile curving his lips, darkly amused at the fear on the face of the doctor.

* * *

Jeremiah  had been waiting patiently, or well as patiently as he could, which meant that he was walking up and down the cell relentlessly as if he was trying to get time to move faster by doing that. When the light outside the cell finally turned off, shortly followed by voices, laughs and screams as the patients left their cells, Jeremiah quietly opened the door of Jerome’s cell, which had been in fact left open just as Sionis had promised, and went into the corridor.

  
Avoiding some brawls that had already broke out, and most of all avoiding the guards, as he walked towards his psychiatrist’s office. Safe to say he heard the screams before he was even that near.

A smile, a mirror image to the one that curled his twins lips, curved his own.

“Jer~!” he called out, almost happily trilling, as he entered the room.  
Lemming’s desk was all shiny with dark red blood, and the man himself wasn’t that far from it, as he clutched his bleeding hands to his chest.

“’Miah! You arrived just in time, brother dear!” Jerome answered his voice sounding not quite like always, there was a manic quality to it, reflected in the gaze in his wide-open eyes. The smile on his lips so wide that it appeared almost unnatural.

“Oh, I did? Lucky me!” he said with a chuckle.

Lemming’s eyes moved quickly from one twin to the other, as he quietly tried to move to the door, the twins attention appeared to be completely polarized on each other, or so the man thought. He moved a hand towards the handle of the door, a flash of silver and a scream tore out of his throat.

Jerome wasn’t even totally looking at him, still turned towards his brother, his right arm extended, a cold light burning in his  _dead_ green eyes, yet he was still smiling.

“Were you trying to leave, doctor? How rude of you.” He said, his voice deceptively calm. “Jeremiah has just arrived and you were leaving without even saying ‘hello’.” then he turned to his brother, part of his threatening aura calmed at that. “Can you believe that, ‘Miah? Honestly some people have no manners.” Jerome tsked.

Lemming was frozen in fear and pain, his left hand pinned to the door by the knife, if he wasn’t so paralyzed in his fear he could have tried to get the knife out to free himself, but he wasn’t thinking logically. The only thing in his mind was to plead and hope that the two madmen who he was in mercy of were amused enough by his pathetic plea d s to let him go.

“You are right, Jer.” Jeremiah said, an equally disturbed smile curling his lips. “Maybe we should teach him.”

The twins looked at each other their smiles getting wider and wider. No word was exchanged between them, before they turned to him, taking a step forward in perfect synchronicity. 

Lemming’s pleads falling to deaf ears. And his screams were never heard drown out in the chaos that was drowning the Asylum.

But if the Arkham’s staff was taught something from the scene they found in the office, when the guards had managed to take back control of the wing, was that suggesting to divide the Valeska’s twins was… _a horribly wrong idea_ , less one wanted to be turned inside out by the two bloodthirsty madmen.


	8. Chapter VII: A New Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins turn eighteen; Jeremiah threatens his new psychiatrist and a new face arrives in Arkham, back in their cells the Twins think about their future. They don't know that in the meantime change is brewing on the horizon.

After their last stunt, that gave them almost a month of permanence in solitary confinement, the two brothers had calmed down for a bit, but just barely. Causing little amounts of Chaos almost everyday, keeping the other patients entertained,  _making them love them._

_ It was something they were very well versed in doing. _

Quickly the weeks spent in Arkham turned into months, and before the two boys realized it, winter had given way to a new spring and with spring their birthday had come. Not that the two had noticed, time in Arkham passed the same, as if it were a single day stretched endlessly. It was strange to realize that the day they had waited so long, for their entire life, was worth  _nothing_ now.

They had finally reached their goal, they had done it. They had survived to  _age of majority_ , yet the thought  didn’t  bring them the contentment they imagined it would bring.

_ They felt nothing. _

Jerome nibbled the rubber of his mechanical pencil, staring at the blank lined page in front of him before starting to draw something. At first he had no idea what he was drawing either, he just felt the urge to do it and  so he did –Harley gave him that diary for that very reason. She had told him to write on, or represent, everything he thought and desired. And although Jerome considered the idea of keeping a diary a  _silly thing_ (it was so easy to lose them, to have your secrets end up in the hands of some stranger) he didn't mind having something to draw or scribble on from time to time when he felt the need. 

Jeremiah, who was sitting across from Jerome, in their usual place in the recreation room, was also writing something in his diary –his given to him by his  new psychiatrist Dr. Leichman (a man in his mid-fifties with cold gray eyes  that  stared  at him as if he were a curious laboratory specimen) under the advice of Dr. Eccels, who believed that keeping their minds busy with doing something would prevent them from doing more terrible acts and that venting their thoughts on the pages would do them only good– what he was writing seemed almost a kind of strange rhyme of thoughts, written in a neat and  elegant handwriting.

His mind was elsewhere, however, focused on the plan he and Jerome were planning to leave the asylum, and with the help of the guard, Palmer (who had taken a liking to them) , and Jerome's psychiatrist, Harley Q. Eccles, they had no doubt that that plan would be succeeded. They were just waiting for the right time to come. Moment that the two thought was fast approaching.

"Welcome back from the Pit, boys"; Jerome and Jeremiah closed their journals  with a fast movement causing a flutter of pages as soon as they heard the voice of Sionis, the millionaire who took his place at the head of the table moving a metal chair. " _Again_ I would add." he then added, moving his gaze between the twins "You are really creating a reputation in Arkham, three times in solitary confinement in the last two months,  _a really good record_ "

Jeremiah looked at him but said nothing, shrugging casually.

Jerome did the same, but smiling as he said, "Uh, what can we do, people get on our nerves here… well, _not all of them_ ," he added the last part almost as an afterthought, turning his mechanical pencil between his fingers,  with  the same speed as an illusionist with a coin.

Sionis smiled at his answer and Jeremiah was about to say something when a guard approached them. A guard from their escort,  Jongleur Palmer, as he had presented himself some weeks ago(a strange name surely but who were they to judge), and not just any guard, the twins held back a smile.

"Valeska, Dr. Leichman wants to see you,"  Palmer said, his tone not quite as flat as the other guards, in fact he sounded annoyed, as if he was preventing himself from  rolling his eyes . The agent hated Leichman and the two boys still didn't understand why.

Both twins stood up, but Palmer stopped them. And he pointed to Jeremiah. "He wants to see you, not the other one".

An annoyed grimace appeared on Jerome's face but he resumed his place anyway, taking Jeremiah's diary and keeping it with his own.

"See you later, broski," Jerome said, a slight grin replacing his annoyed expression. Jeremiah replied with a smile and a quick wink.

“Do you know what Leichman wants?” Jeremiah whispered to Jongleur as the two walked through the corridors of the asylum.

“I have no idea, Jeremiah. They don't say much to us guards,” he replied, bothered by his inability to give him information as much as Jeremiah was bothered by the lack of it.

"Well, it must be important if he decided to stop Arkham's routine schedule"

"Or he's looking for another guinea pig"

Jeremiah's expression darkened at that sentence, "Another guinea pig?"

"The bastard still practices electroshock…"

And this time, perhaps for the first time since he was interned at Arkham, something akin to shock appeared on Jeremiah's face. “ He still practices…? How ?  _It's illegal_ "

The irony in the fact that he, a murderer, recognized the illegality of that action, was not lost on the boy, a small amused smile appeared on his face, dissolving the shock in his expression.

"Arkham is not exactly a pillar of legality…" Jongleur replied and without anyone noticing he passed his knife to Jeremiah " Just to be sure that the bastard can’t get his hands on you. "

Jeremiah smiled almost maniacally "In that case,  Jongleur , remember that my favorite cell in the Pit is 15"

“We keep it free just for you, Jeremiah. You're a regular guest now, "he replied with a smile that matched the boy's and just then they reached the room where the session with Leichman would be held, the metal door was still closed. "I'll wait for Leichman's screams then," the guard whispered with that vaguely psychotic smile still on his lips.

Jeremiah smiled, and then motioned for Palmer to open the door, commenting ' _Let's not wait any longer, then_ ' in a whisper barely audible even to  Palmer himself.

The office –or at least it appeared to be– where his sessions with Dr. Leichman were held, irritated Jeremiah more than he ever thought a room could do.  Even more than Lemming’s office.

The monochrome of the walls, light gray, which was combined with a dark gray floor, with nothing around that could recall even a minimum of personality, apart from a walnut desk with some objects on it –nothing that could be used to hurt someone anyway– annoyed him.

Jeremiah couldn't stand monochrome, couldn't stand the dull tones of that cold gray. Instead, he loved colors, in their most saturated shades, probably due to the fact that he grew up in a circus, where colors were the only thing that hid the decadence and despair that filled that  _Cirque du Désespérés._

"Jeremiah"; Dr. Leichman's flat, almost robotic voice in its lack of emotion caught Jeremiah's attention, the psychiatrist's gray eyes fixed on the boy, looking at him in that clinical way that made him feel uncomfortable.

"Dr. Leichman. Did you want to see me?” He said in response, a small smile twisting his lips. Sooner or later he would be able to irritate him too,  or maybe just get rid of him , he would continue until Dr. Eccels was assigned to him too. He and Jerome had always shared everything and it was only fair that they shared her too.

"In fact, yes" the man replied flatly "I wanted to refer you, and inform you, as your doctor, that you will soon be transferred to a new facility." he then said

The boy was confused by the information,  _why did they have to transfer him? Arkham suited him,_ _thank you very much_ .  _Even if he had to be honest he didn't care that much, as long as Jerome was with him they could have sent him wherever they liked. They could even have moved him to_ Peña Duro _, for_ _what_ _he cared about, he and Jerome would have adapted anyway_ .

"Without your brother"

At that sentence, Jeremiah could not prevent the instinctive ' _What?_ ' He uttered, shocked, and with a start of anger that began to brood inside him.  _How dare he? Didn't he remember what had happened the last time someone tried to separate him from his brother?_

"I can understand that this could be a shock for you, Jeremiah…" the doctor began "But for your own good, if you want to heal, parting with Jerome is the only solution. I know you don't realize it, but your brother is dragging you into his  delusions . "

The start of anger that the boy had  felt turned into a real fire  in his chest , to that slimy insinuation that Jerome,  _the only person who had ever cared for him_ , was dragging him into his madness. Because none of them were  _crazy_ ! The two of them were  _sane_ ,  _why couldn't anyone see_ _it_ _?_

“Cancel it, I don't care how. I'm not leaving without Jerome,”Jeremiah snarled, in an order that sounded cold and emotionless just like his expression, all emotion was gone from his face his eyes were frozen and so, so _dead_.

“Jerome's presence is not healthy for your psyche, Jeremiah. Separating you is the only way to cure yourself "

"And what makes you think I want to be treated, Doc?" He asked rhetorically, a corner of his mouth lifting into a crooked smile, before the smile disappeared again behind the utter lack of expressiveness of his face. “You can't…  _fix me_ , Doc. You can't fix me, because I don't need to be  _fixed_ .  I’m not something broken that you can put back together. _I'm not broken_ . I don't need to be  _repaired_ . This is who I am.” He said then, icy, poisonous as a snake made  human . “ And if you still insist, do I have to remind you what happened the last time someone tried to divide my twin and I?”

At that exact moment, as the boy finished speaking, Doctor Leichman realized that it was too late for him. Too late for him to reach him, make him think, with a traditional method.

"I'll cancel the transfer," he said, looking the boy in the eye –he had noticed that Jeremiah tended to ignore anyone who didn't meet his gaze, or if he didn't ignore them he didn't consider them worthy of his attention for more than a few moments– while he was already thinking about the fact that he should have asked Doctor Strange for special permission to use one of the old areas of the Sanatorium, he would not let his patient wallow in his  delusions .

_ He had never done that. _

_ Even if the other patients… were never strong enough to resist his treatments. _

And even if he failed, bringing him back to a  _clean slate_ state was still better than leaving him in this  delusion .

Leichman did not fail to notice the small satisfied smile that had broken Jeremiah's expressionless mask.  _Another thing that he had noticed about his patient was, in fact, this, the almost childlike joy that filled his eyes when something went exactly as he wanted, like a child happy to have his whim satisfied. But wasn't that what the twins were in the end? Two_ _boys_ _who had never had the opportunity to properly develop their emotional sensitivity._

Perhaps bringing them back to a clean slate state would be something they could both benefit from. To develop properly, without the seriousness of their childhood weighing on them.

"I'm sorry I interrupted your recreational hour, Jeremiah," he said then, before contacting the boy's escort, informing them that their session was over.

"You'll really be sorry, Doc. For now…  _you_ _aren’t sorry_ _enough,_ " Jeremiah whispered, a wry smile on his face and a low tone full of dark promises. At that moment –too quickly for the guard to have arrived from the wing reserved for them– Agent Palmer revealed his presence.

Jeremiah meekly followed him.

It did not escape Leichman  notice  how the escort  agent was too close to his patient. He didn't like it, but until proven otherwise, he had no reason to inform Strange of this.

A third element could have provided a wedge in the relationship between the twins… could have been…  _positive_ .

* * *

Jongleur had brought him back to his cell, and Jeremiah had returned the knife to him,  without making the exchange noticeable –to avoid the possible complications that could arise if someone had found it on him–.

The red had waited a few moments before sneaking through the narrow opening in his brother's cell, pushing aside the grate that was in the exact center of the hole and sliding to the other side –over time it had become much easier to do so–.

Jerome greeted him with a smile. "What did the old doctor want?"

"Oh, nothing important, Jer." Jeremiah answered almost too quickly, it was an instinct, his, that of not wanting to worry Jerome with things already resolved even if the aforementioned thing had bothered him.

"’ Miah, I could _feel_ your worry and anger from here, " he said to him"  _Spit it out_ , what did that old shrink say? "

"Uh …" the boy began, sitting next to his twin on the cot that served as his bed, "Uh, thought, no, already organized to move  me to another facility"

Jerome's green, identical gaze rested on him, for a puzzled moment "You said ‘move  _you’_ … you mean that shrink wants to divide us?" Jerome's tone was light but Jeremiah could feel all the pent-up anger in those words.

And he was almost ecstatic to hear it, Jerome could be unpredictably and wonderfully dangerous when he lost his temper. But…  now  was not the time,  not  when they were not so close to leaving Arkham.

"Yes, but don't worry, Jer, I made him change his mind"

"Excellent," Jerome murmured, holding his twin in a hug, so tight it gave the impression that he wanted them to become one, to melt into each other, two halves back into a whole. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, "he added then, still in the same low murmur, holding his face against the neck of his twin.

“Me too, Jerome. Me too, ”Jeremiah replied in the same low tone, putting his arms around his twin in turn.

The two remained silent for a few moments, in each other's arms, enjoying their closeness, how right it seemed to be so close, how warm and safe,  how  _protected and loved_ it made them feel.

Jeremiah then moved away, just a little bit enough to be able to look Jerome in the eye, the dark gravity that was hidden in his irises had previously disappeared. "So, Jer, what happened after I left?" he asked, simulating a flirtatious tone that made Jerome chuckle, bringing the smile back to his face.

"A mess happened after you left!" Jerome exclaimed, jumping to his feet and spreading his arms as if he were talking to an audience. “Right after you left the rec room. Greenwood and Maggie started  beating each other, it was spectacular! For a moment it looked like Maggie was going to rip Greenwood's throat with her teeth –which by the way means you owe me two fruit  jellos – "Jeremiah looked up at that sentence but nodded in acknowledgment of his defeat" But the guards  stopped them before something really interesting  happened , which is really a  _shame_ ! Anyway, after they ' _calmed them down_ ,'” Jerome gestured to the word,  making the air quotes sign , “and you know  that by ‘ _calmed them_ _down_ ’ I mean they beat them unconscious,  after that  this new patient arrived. Barbra… no,  _Barbera_ ? Oh no matter a beautiful blonde, a little bit  of a bitch in my opinion but okay, nobody cares about my opinion right? Especially not to Sionis apparently. "

Jeremiah looked at his twin as he waited for him to continue. Jerome took a silent breath bringing a  stage smile back to his face.

“So what I was saying, _Sionis_. Sionis practically started drooling when he saw her, kind of like a dog seeing a bitch in heat, _ew, bad image…_ oh my, _I want to get this image out of my head_ …” Jerome stood with that disgusted look on his face for a few moments, before shaking his head, hard enough that Jeremiah started to get up to keep him from tumbling if he got dizzy, but Jerome motioned for him to stay seated "So yeah, since he wanted to lure the beauty into our group of misfits he sent me to talk to her, "the jealous expression that appeared on Jeremiah's face was so hilarious that forced Jerome to interrupt his story for the umpteenth time while laughing" Don't worry, 'Miah, the blonde is not the my type. I like reds," he looked at his twin "completely _crazy_ , and well… very well endowed" he said with a wink and gesturing with his hands, Jeremiah blushed and chuckled embarrassed, then Jerome took up his story as if he hadn't said none of that “So were was I? Oh right, so I went to her, to talk to her… and… oh, Lord, if she already looked like a bitch from a distance, up close she was one even more so… She didn't even have a trace of good manners! And it takes some! You and I were raised by _that_ _whore_ _Lila_ but at least we know it's polite to say ' _good morning_ ' when someone talks to you! Ugh, however, in the end I managed to convince her by telling her that Sionis could give her whatever she wanted." He concluded and while he was about to sit next to Jeremiah, when something else occurred to him. "Oh, and by the way, seeing as the blonde had a pair of sunglasses and a fashion magazine I'm sure she had fun with the guards before arriving, if you understand what I mean. "

"I see,  _ugh…_ " Jeremiah said, his voice slightly disgusted "So we will have to deal with her often?"

“Probably, since Sionis wants her as, I don't know, a partner? _Fuck-ally_? Does it even exist as a word? "

“No, I really think it doesn’t.” Jeremiah answered “So we’ll have to put up with Sionis' fuckbuddy? _Fan-ta-stic._ " Jeremiah added before rolling his eyes in that expression that was typically his –Jerome had tried to imitate him many times, but… he never seemed quite like Jeremiah did–.

"We can always… well, you know"

"Yes, I know, but Jongleur needs some time, he has to soften up the security guards…"

"You mean…  _ew, ew… ew_ !" That disgusted expression returned to Jerome's face

"No, I mean  _torturing_ them…" Jeremiah hissed in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

Jerome's disgusted expression disappeared again, fading into a smile.

"Oh, in that case… then great"

Jeremiah snorted. "I was sarcastic"

"I know, you  dumbass "

" _Dumbass_ ?" Jeremiah repeated incredulously  “ Seriously, Jer?  Me a dumbass? Didn’t you say that I’m a genius? "  he asked, looking at Jerome with wide, sad eyes, yet his expression was so exagerated that Jerome knew that his brother wasn’t being serious.

" Well, sometimes you are. Besides you can be  still be a genius while also being a dumbass... "

Jeremiah  rolled his eyes with a smirk “ So what about Barbra? Barbera, whatever  her name  is , what do we do? "

"What we have always done, the best of a bad situation… and when we can, we will get away from here and… I don't know… we will change our name and go to live somewhere else" Jerome replied "About this I was thinking… what about do you think of the name  _Ian_ ? "

"It's… okay, why?"

"You could use it as your new name? For me, I was thinking of something like… uh,  _Cameron_ ?  Yeah , Cameron, I like the way it sounds "

Jeremiah nodded and then asked, "What about the surname?"

"Remember that old alcoholic Lila went out with for a couple of nights when we were in Chicago?"

Jeremiah nodded, he remembered that man. He remembered him better than his mother's other ' _boyfriends_ ' because he was the only one who had introduced himself to them, the only one who had treated them with a little decency even while he smelled of alcohol and weed.

"Old Gallagher?"

Jerome nodded "Ian and Cameron Gallagher, sounds good, right?"

"Quite." Jeremiah agreed "We just have to leave Arkham-"

"And find someone who will make us fake documents," Jerome interjected

" _And find someone who will make us fake documents_ ," Jeremiah agreed. "And then we'll be really, absolutely free."

The two boys smiled.

They were so sure of that bright new future that awaited them. Away from the madness, away from Gotham.

They certainly couldn’t imagine that in a few weeks, their entire world would be turned upside down and that every foothold they had found to stay sane would be ripped from them.

They still did not know of the man in elegant suit who was training a poor, weak-minded man to become his sacrificial lamb, the first of many in his crusade against Gotham's oldest family.

Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska  didn’t yet know the importance of the Wayne family, and they  didn’t yet know how their destiny would cling to that of the young, orphaned,  heir of the family, in a double thread of violence and madness.

All because of a man they still didn't know, and who still didn't know them.

Because of this man:  _their legacy of magnificence and luster would be transformed into a_ _Legacy_ _of_ _Death_ _and_ _Madness_ _._


	9. Chapter VIII: The beginning of something wonderfully horrifying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Twins are kidnapped, with the rest of Sionis’ group. Their kidnapper has a plan, a plan that neither of the twins know, but that will change Gotham forever, whether it works or fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing that today is my birthday I decided to celebrate it by writing a bit more than usual, I hope you guys will like the chapter. (I'd love to see your thoughts)

_The Valeska twins were incredibly bored_ .

Since his beautiful blonde, Barbara, had arrived, Sionis had prevented them from doing anything funny, limiting their scope to mere jokes.  _As if they were_ _just simple_ _stage comedians!_

This had bothered them particularly, and they didn't seem the only ones to be bothered by it. All of Arkham's patients, even those who weren't exactly in tune with reality, seemed bothered that the twins couldn't pull their usual stunts, like _threaten someone, or make a guard look like a fool_.

Barbara was even interesting once she got over her arrogance, but the fact that because of her the twins were forced to stay in control as if they were  Sionis’ court buffoons was pushing them to the limit.

Which brought them to the present moment, two weeks after Barbara's arrival (and their birthday), in the recreation room.

Sionis’ group sitting all to one side –Greenwood looking at Barbara as if she were a delicious dish he couldn’t wait to taste– and the aforementioned Barbara lying on the bench adjacent to the table, her head resting against Sionis stroking her hair and Aaron applying nail polish –burgundy red on her toenails, the best pedicure the blonde could expect to have in Arkham–, Jerome and Jeremiah sitting at the far end of the metal table wrote in their diaries, holding them on their legs so that no one could see what they were writing and what was already written on the pages.

"Someone tell me a funny story," Barbara said, a bored expression on her face, her gaze fixed on her twins as if she expected them to entertain her.

Under the table, Jeremiah squeezed the pencil so hard it broke in half, while keeping a smile on  his face, Jerome simply looked at her, his green irises darkened with indefinable emotion.

They could feel  as if  they were born entertainers and this was true, they could love the idea of  having an audience, someone who loved their acts…  _but they weren't anyone's court jesters_ .

Noticing the silence Richard intervened: “I have one! When I was in college, I was part of a polo team and had a pony battery. "

While he was telling this, the door to the recreation room was opened, attracting the attention of the twins, and a few others. A man came in, large in size, not very tall, greasy black hair with a strange cut that made it look as if he had bat ears on either side, brown eyes.

The twins immediately found it boring and turned their attention back to the story –told without a trace of theatricality by Sionis– 

" Listen everyone, I'm Zaardon, the Reaper of Souls!" exclaimed the newcomer, interrupting the story of Sionis.

Jerome liked his tone, it attracted a lot of attention although he found it a bit too ostentatious, like a presenter who is trying too hard to keep the audience's attention on himself.

Sionis gave a disapproving look before resuming his story: "So I told you, I had these ponies-"

The man, that certain Zaardon, tried to attract everyone's attention again but was ignored.

“And the maître says to me: ' _You can't bring them in here!_ ' -” Sionis narrated, trying with an imitation of the maître's voice. It was bad, but the twins found it slightly amusing.

But Zaardon interrupted him again, climbing onto a table and shouting: "Listen to me,  _slaves_ ! I'm running out of patience. Submit your souls to my will. Or I swear on the  Master that I will feed of your torment!” ; Sionis seemed legitimately angry with the new patient, Jerome and Jeremiah had closed their diaries, listening to the speech of this new madman with amusement (his arrival was the funniest thing that had happened in a while). At that same moment, Jongleur was forced to leave the recreation room –where he 'kept an eye on' the twins to return to the guard wing–. Zaardon continued: "I will feed on your regrets and crush you like cockroaches!" he started to laugh but his laughter soon turned into coughing and Zaardon collapsed on the same table he was sitting on.

All the patients tried to ignore him again, when… suddenly a blue mist began to come out of his half-open mouth, and his limbs trembled as if he were convulsing.

A wave of panic filled the room, while the other patients saw the patients inhaling the smoke fall to the floor, perhaps unconscious perhaps…  _dead_ .

Sionis and Barbara stood up trying to get away from the cloud, Richard pushed Barbara behind him as if to protect her, which was useless since he too had soon lost his senses.

One after the other they all fell after inhaling the blue smoke.

Jerome and Jeremiah were still conscious but  didn’t know how long they would be able to be, holding their breath until they felt their lungs burn, the corners of their vision darkening. They had to catch their breath, but they couldn't… not with that blue gas around.

But they couldn't do anything else was that or faint and then get hit by the effects of the gas afterwards.

The twins held hands, their gazes united beyond the bluish  mist that prevented them from seeing clearly.

_Whatever had happened_ … they would have faced it together as everything in their life  .

They took a breath at the same moment and then the two Valeska twins passed out like all the other patients before them, slumped against the metal table, their journals on the floor. Their hands still intertwined and their faces turned towards each other , half-smiles bending their lips .

By the time Jongleur reached the recreation room, Jerome and Jeremiah had already been taken away along with the other five of Sionis's group, the guards in the room killed, someone had shot them, and the new patient was lying on a metal table, completely still…  _probably dead_ .

Before his colleagues arrived, the agent noticed the two boys' diaries, took them and hid them before the other guards arrived.

He would keep them out of prying eyes until Jerome and Jeremiah contacted him –he was absolutely certain that the two were fine– then he would return them to their rightful owners.

* * *

There was something amazed in the twins' gaze as they looked around,  well as much as they could  seeing that they couldn’t move at the moment, they had never been in a penthouse in their life –it wasn't quite true, they had been in a penthouse, once when the circus stopped in Starling City, but they  hadn’t really  had the time to see anything of the aforementioned penthouse… just its owner and bedroom–. The view from the window in front of them was extraordinary, there was a perfect view of Gotham from above, except for some buildings that were much taller.

The polished black marble floor, the walls a soft, yet monotonous gray, everything was illuminated by bronze chandeliers, and by the spherical lamps held by the bronze statues placed on either side of the window in front of them.

_Whoever freed them had to have their good money to afford this_ .

"Where the hell are we?" Greenwood asked, drawing the boys' attention and bringing them back to the present, out of their thoughts.

"Certainly not in Arkham," Jerome replied, grinning slightly.

"So, things are already better," Jeremiah added. Whoever the person who had taken them away was, even if it were another Mister Millionaire like the man from Starling City, for him and Jerome there would be no problems, they would do what they had to do and let them let their guard down and then go…  _free as the wind_ .

And here their liberator, most likely the man who had paid to get them released, entered the room, followed by a woman with a dark complexion, black hair tied in a ponytail, dressed all in black and with a whip secured to one side. The man, on the other hand, had an elegant dark blue suit, with a shiny wine-colored tie.

"Welcome everyone," the man said, his tone was calm and reassuring, up to a certain point, he didn't seem to want to hurt any of them "My name is Theo Galavan and this is my sister Tabitha" he added, nodding to the woman he was with, whom Greenwood, Aaron, and even Dobs had to consider beautiful or attractive given the comments that left their mouths.

The boys said nothing, they had a certain education despite how they had been raised.

Fortunately Theo silenced the rest of them with a wave of his hand.

"I understand very well that you feel confused, scared, maybe a little dazed, but please calm down. Today is the beginning of a bright future for all of you. If you want it." he said then, his gaze moving on each of them.

"What do you want from us?" Barbara asked. Theo's gaze immediately shifted to her.

"What do I want from you?" the man repeated "I don't want anything from you, just give you a chance to be someone, to be  _remembered_ " at those words the two boys' gaze was immediately locked on Theo, who seemed to notice their gaze as he walked away from the point where was Barbara and was walking back, this time stopping exactly in front of the twins “Because you see, I know that you are not what others see in you,  _you are not criminally insane_ . Oh no. When I look at you, what I see is  _genius_ "Theo's gaze fell on Jeremiah" I see  _charisma_ "his gaze shifted to Jerome, who couldn't help but smile at that gaze, exactly as his twin had just before. "I see  _power_ " and this time Theo's gaze shifted to both twins "and  _cunning_ " and his gaze shifted to Barbara.

"Yes, that's right, my friend," said Jerome, the smile on his face now evident, and perhaps for the first time not completely  dark, and dangerous . "It's almost disturbing how perfectly your speech describes me and my brother. As for these others, I don't know, but… "Theo approached them with a slight smile on his face " _we speak the same language_ "

Just at that moment Sionis decided to intrude "Shut up, Jerome" he said, and the redhead gave him a rather angry look at a distance "Continue" he then said in the direction of Theo, who after a quick glance in the direction of the man brought his attention back to the twins, a subtle change in his expression, as if he wanted to tell them, 'A _re you letting this man tell you what to do?_ ', before turning his gaze to Barbara.

“Imagine a group of brilliant criminals like you chosen for your unique abilities working as a team. Imagine this synergy. Imagine the impact. _Gotham will tremble in your presence_. "

The two boys listened to every word Theo  pronounced with more attention than they ever did to similar speeches made by others, and were incredibly annoyed when Barbara interrupted him a second time.

“Ok, this is great. But I'm not a ' _brilliant criminal'_. Let's just say I have… _problems_ "

“You are fierce,” Theo said, approaching her, “beautiful and ambitious. And that's enough. " Theo's gaze was completely focused on her, while he lifted her face with a delicate touch “Come with me, Barbara. Whatever you want in the world, it's yours "

"Theo?" the voice of Sionis broke the silence that was created "Is your name right? Theo? You're definitely running too fast here. First of all, keep your hands off her. And then this whole magic squad thing… I think I'll pass” jealousy was clear in his expression, coupled with something akin to a slight irritation, Theo remained calm. "I don't take orders from anyone." Sionis continued “Good luck for everything, anyway. It is an interesting concept. "

Theo turned to Richard with an expression that could only be described as disappointed: "This is very disappointing"

"It seems right. You want a reward for making us all break out of Arkham, which I am grateful for. How about a million dollars. Sounds good, huh? "

Jeremiah and Jerome held back their irritated snort, yet again Richard was flaunting his wealth, and also because the thing was honestly stupid to do at this time, Theo was probably a lot richer than Sionis could ever have imagined, if the penthouse and his suit indicated something… _besides_ , well, the gunmen who guarded the entrance.

“Money is not a problem” in fact Theo said, his tone sounded almost dismayed, he was really disappointed in Sionis “I had many expectations of you. But I didn't foresee your jealousy and that always ruins everything." he added, "You have to go, Tabitha will escort you out," and having said this he motioned to one of the gunmen who went to free Richard.

Sionis immediately began walking towards Barbara. "Miss Kean is coming with me"

"Oh, I'm sure Miss Kean doesn't want to go where you're going," Galavan retorted, and at that exact moment Tabitha cracked her whip before whipping it at Sionis, pulling him back with  it . The man did not have time to react  before Tabitha was on top of  him stabbing him repeatedly in  the neck with a curved steel karambit.

At that display of violence, Jerome and Jeremiah couldn't help but smile, a psychotic laugh leaving their lips.  Happy that their last overseer was now dead and that his death had been so…  _violent_ .

"Anyone else want to leave?" Theo Galavan asked ironically.

Everyone shook their heads or muttered no, all except the twins who were still laughing at the well-deserved death of Sionis.

Theo smiled, content with their response, and motioned to the gunmen in the hall to release them, while two others dragged away Richard's body, a streak of red staining the polished black of the marble.

The laughter of the twins faded away, a happy and sinister smile on their faces, and once the silence was restored, Theo and Tabitha showed the criminals, who had freed, the penthouse in its entirety. Each room was furnished and decorated with the same taste and elegance, everything there exuded richness.

The bronze statues that illuminated the entrances of each corridor and the works of art hung on the walls that created a slightly gloomy atmosphere, reminiscent of what one breathed in a museum after opening hours.

Finally, at the end of the 'tour', the Galavans took their 'guests' into the corridor where the guest rooms were, showing each of them what their room was, and instructing them to wear the clothes they would find stored in the closets. and join them in the dining room.

The Valeska twins were a little surprised when Tabitha showed them their room, precisely due to the fact that unlike all the previous boys –and  girl – it was not given to the single but to both, and not for lack of space, there there were at least four other rooms  in that hallway , but then Tabitha had said this: ' _we thought you would have preferred it this way_ ' in response to their confusion and the two boys had realized that somehow, the two Galavans knew something about them, that they shouldn't have known.

It did not bother them, although Jerome promised himself that he would visit Harley to make sure the dear doctor hadn't spilled anything he had told her in confidence, as friends, while Jeremiah thought that as soon as he could put the hands on a phone would have contacted Jongleur to tell him to ' _get rid of Leichman_ ' (for reasons that were first point: revenge and second point: because now that they were free, Leichman was no longer useful for their plan) and also to inform the guard that at the present moment they were ' _safe_ '.

They weren't sure they were completely safe but until now, neither Theo nor his sister had done anything that could have led them to doubt them.

Despite this the fact that he had set them free and wanted to help them be remembered, without asking anything in return for what he was doing for them –all of them including the others in the Sionis group– just seemed too strange for the boys.

"Wow!" Jerome's astonished exclamation as soon as they saw what was their room, was matched by the expression on Jeremiah's face.

The twins had never had a room of their own, not really. They had gone from the second-hand mattress resting on the floor and tucked behind a  bamboo  screen in their mother's trailer to the cold, small, damp cells of Arkham, as well as the uncomfortable rooms of the many cheap motels they'd stayed in from time to time after reaching sixteen, but then those rooms were ' _theirs_ ' for only one night, rarely two… sometimes not even for the whole night, so they didn't matter much.

But this, this was the first time that a room was theirs and it was so big and furnished like a real bedroom.

As if for the first time someone was remembering that they too were people. That they were human beings just like everyone else.

That they weren't just freaks, monsters…  _but they were people_ .

If the two boys hadn't already shed all their tears growing up, maybe now they would have cried for an emotion that even they couldn't understand.

_ And yes, Theo was treating them well just to use them… but hey, at least he remembered they weren't just monsters. _

The two boys allowed their gaze to wander around the room for a moment.

The walls were a dark shade of gray tending to black, with a purplish note in its hue, the floor of the same black marble they had seen as they passed through the penthouse. To the right of the bedroom door was the bed, a Baroque king size bed with dark red blankets and black-lined pillows. The rest of the furniture in the room –two bedside tables, the two-door wardrobe also in Baroque style and a desk (who knows what was the reason why their room had a desk… maybe it was just part of the standard furniture… not that they  would know ) - it was in ebony, the dark wood that went well with the golden harnesses that followed the curved profiles of the furniture.

On the left wall, with respect to the door, there was another mahogany door that led to the room's private bathroom.

Remembering the instructions given by Theo, the two boys went to the wardrobe and took the suits they found there.

_ Uh, weird. _

They didn't know the Arkham files had their measurements. Unless Theo had contacted the circus and requested their tailoring measurements –which was very likely, to be honest. Assuming that Owen hadn't already burned everything  he had left about them.

* * *

Theo had always ' _boasted_ ' that he had the ability to understand people at first glance, mainly to understand what their weaknesses were, the ones he could exploit to have them under his control, ready to do whatever he wanted them to do,  exactly as he wanted .

So by the time he'd analyzed the Arkham patient files he intended to use in his plan to return Gotham to its rightful owner –and get rid of the Wayne plague once and for all– he'd already figured out who he was dealing with. to do and what their roles would be.

_Dobkins, Helzinger and Greenwood_ could be useful if kept in check, they were the lowest level pawns.

_Miss Kean_ was…  _charming_ , and her beauty could have many uses, once she was trained properly.  She’d bee and butterfly together. She was beautiful and ambitious but still something was missing. Tabitha would help her develop her full potential.

The Valeska twins,  he  hadn't given much thought to them, even though the list of crimes that was under their name was incredibly long for  two  seventeen year-olds –turned eighteen in Arkham– especially when looking at the kind of crimes they committed:  _Murder, two instances for arson, one of which resulted in one victim and a dozen injured, three instances of attempted murder against minors, chemical disfigurement, four instances of aggression against the smallest members of the Grayson family, etc._ the list went on. He believed he had found the ideal people to be the violent force of the team he intended to form.

_Sionis,_ Theo had thought that he would be the leader of the small group, that he could use his arrogance and his need for validation against him. He hadn't considered his jealousy.

Now that he had met them he had found himself having to change his opinion, which was rare enough, about the two Valeskas. Those  boys weren't simply the violent force that the files on them hinted at, no, there was a sharp mind behind all that brutality. A mind that could have been very useful to him. Fortunately, the two boys had served him their weakness on a silver plate, it was enough to look at them and see their reaction while he recognized their qualities.

It was a shame that due to  Sionis ' death, the two were destined to become the next sacrificial lambs of his plan, _a real shame_ . They would have been a great addition to the forces of the Order of St. Dumas –he was certain that if he had seen them, Father Creel, he would have agreed with him.

_A real shame_ _though that_ _of course, didn't mean_ _that_ _he would let it stop him_ .

Gotham needed to be saved, and  its sins could only be washed by the blood of  its most prestigious son. And as such, if he had to use those  boys to achieve his goal he would have done it, because…

_ Bruce Wayne had to die. _


	10. Chapter IX: The prelude of the MANIAX!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change is coming to Gotham, and Theo sends his 'team' out for their first task.
> 
> The first act of the Maniax is about to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Suicidal thoughts; (It's just a little thing when Jerome is standing on the ledge of the roof of the press building, but I thought to give you guys a little heads up)

With those clothes –tailored copies of the Arkham uniforms they wore but without the identification numbers so that identifying them was difficult without seeing them in the face– on, with their hair styled in the same way, or well voluntarily messed up, the two boys were indistinguishable from each other, they were like two drops of water, the reflection of one another.

As they joined the others in the dining room  at the dining table – a large, walnut table meant for at least twelve  guests – they had a slight smile on their face and a predatory twinkle in their eyes.

Theo sat at the head of the table, Barbara next to him, Dobs two seats after Barbara and Greenwood sat in the seat opposite Dobs and Helzinger sat next to the cannibal. The twins took their seats after a nod from Theo, to his left.

A thought, a half-memory came to Jerome's mind, something he had once heard old Otis, the circus animal tamer say, "the left is the hand of the devil," and the thought brought a flash of laughter to the boy,  because if they were sitting to Theo's left, did that mean _they were_ _the_ _devils on his shoulder?_

Jeremiah gave him a confused look, and Jerome  told him that he would explain it to him later  with a gesture , no one noticed the exchange between the twins.

Theo began to talk to them, to explain what he saw in them. What he saw for their future.

His calm voice managed to keep the two Valeskas attentive, who actually seemed much more than attentive, seemed to hang from his lips, enchanted as snakes enchanted by a melody.

Every now and then they seemed to instinctively nod to a phrase  said by Theo.

"The world may well look at you from above now, but soon… soon you will be looking at them from above," he concluded.

The twins smiled, there was something dreamy in their eyes, as if they  were  already  seeing ,  were already  tasting the violence that was about to take place  by their hands. As if they could already see people whispering their names, some with fear, some with…  _admiration_ –just like Jongleur–. 

"Will we be like the stars,  _Theo_ ?" Jerome asked, his gaze was still distant in that world that only he and his brother could see, his voice was low and soft and Theo had never heard anyone say his name with such sweetness.

" Like stars?" Galavan asked, intrigued by the boy's comparison.

“Yes, like stars. They are so beautiful and majestic, it’s of no consecuence if they are just born or are just a reflection of a long dead light, we can only look at them and marvel at how magnificent they are. Everything down here is… _awful_ but up there- "Jerome pointed up at the sky beyond the vaulted ceiling, his tone was sweet, his every word drew like honey to the rim of a glass, put there to deceive the person drinking the bitter remedy that was inside "it's all wonderful, once you can see beyond the clouds"

Theo was silent for a few moments, amazed by the boy's words, the others present were as amazed as he, even Jeremiah, his twin, seemed fascinated and amazed by his brother's words.

"Yes, Jerome," Theo finally said, "You will be like stars" and the way Jerome's gaze snapped  back to reality, staring at him was almost painful, because in those green eyes so manic, under a layer of distrust still present, there was something, there was a child with bright green eyes full of dreams, dreams of a great future. And he was making him come back with his words.

If Theo Galavan hadn't been so focused on his goal he might have felt guilty about his entire plan seeing that look, but he was and so he didn't care much, knowing that this just meant that he was managing to get him to trust him. He just had to get Jeremiah  too, somehow .

But, in part, he didn't think it was going to be difficult now that Jerome was beginning to trust him.

Two of his personal waitresses entered the room, setting the table and serving the diners dishes specifically designed for them… and for their particular tastes.  Which meant that the meat that had been served to Greenwood wasn’t exactly of… animal origin, though that could be debated, humans are, after all, still animals.

Theo had joined them, if only to cement the trust he was creating with the 'team'. And he had heard one of the twins say that if he loved rare- cooked duck so much they could sometimes make him ' _czernina_ ', or something that had a similar sound. Theirs had been a genuine proposition, but for a moment they seemed almost  _threatening_ … although it was probably due to the disgust they felt at how Greenwood was eating his meal.

Once the lunch was over, and the plates taken away by the waitresses, Theo spoke again: "I know this may seem rushed, but I need you to do the first of your tasks for me today."

" Which would be…? " Jeremiah asked, his green eyes glittering with anticipation as he shared his twin's euphoric smile.

Theo smiled at them “You will take seven members of Gotham Gazette hostage, and bind them, you will throw them off the roof of the news organization they work for. Do you like the idea? "

"Ironic." Jerome commented, before his smile turned into a sadistic grin, tight and sharp " _I like it_ "

At the same time Jeremiah asked, "Why seven?"

"Seven has always been considered a number that holds a lot of power, and I want our team to be characterized by this ' _power_ '. Also, the only other significant enough number would be three, and I really doubt we could come up with a three-letter  effective name, don't you think? " Theo asked as he got up from the head of the table.

The twins laughed softly at Galavan's joke, although it had been said a serious tone. Saying a 'True' under their breath.

"How are we supposed to kidnap them?" Greenwood asked instead

“It will be their lunch break, I'll leave the logistics of the kidnapping up to you, I'm sure you'll be able to find a way. Think outside the box, guys,” Theo replied, his gaze moving to all the fugitives he had freed –excluding Barbara.

"And I? You keep saying boys, and until proven otherwise, I'm not, "she said in fact.

“I have other plans for you, Barbara. Why don't you go to Tabitha for now? She can't wait to meet you, "said Galavan, Barbara nodded.

After these words, everyone got up following Theo's example, Barbara left the room and went wherever Tabitha was waiting for her, while the twins and the others followed Theo into the 'armory' room of his penthouse.

The millionaire went to a metal locker, from which he pulled out straitjackets, passing one –two in the case of Greenwood and Helzinger– to each of the members of his 'team of brilliant criminals'.

"What should we do with it?" Jerome asked, tilting his head to one side, like a curious hawk.

"You will immobilize the hostages with these." Theo answered, a small smile then folded his lips "It will make everything more worthy of a  headline , don't you think?"

The twins nodded, at that moment as Theo was about to close the cabinet, Jerome noticed the spray cans placed on the upper shelf.

"Do you mind if I take those too?" The boy asked, in the most innocent tone he could fake –which was really credible– which was now second nature to him when he wanted something.

“No, of course not. What do you want to do with it? " the millionaire asked, clearly intrigued. _The boy or well_ _, actually, both twins were_ _intriguing_ _, their minds worked differently from the people he had always worked with and that intrigued him._

“We need a name, right? And it must be worthy of a headline" replied the boy, recapitulating what Theo had said previously "So I thought, why not write it on them, before throwing them off the roof? "

Theo smiled, passing the spray cans to the boy "It's a good idea. Very creative,”  he complimented him, seeing how Jerome  brightened at his words. Then he  was about to put a hand on his shoulder, as a further form of support for his idea, not calculating in the least the reaction of the boy, who froze for less than an instant, before he dropped what he was holding, grabbing his wrist with a  grip that felt almost like a  vice , before  he could even touch him.

Jerome's eyes were cold and empty, his had been an instinctive and mechanical reaction, in fact immediately after he let go. He didn't apologize but he could see that he was bothered by his own reaction.

Jeremiah looked at Galavan like a hawk, studying his reaction. And Theo knew that now he had a chance to win some of their trust, or lose it completely and forever so he gave the two boys a sympathetic but not pitying look, making a slight nod before continuing as if nothing had happened, handing Jerome what had fallen  from his hands .

And he saw how the two boys accepted his action, the distrust in their eyes diminishing.

Theo held back his smile, those  boys were really crystal clear, easy to read like an open book,  clever but still…  _too naive_ .

* * *

The five Arkham fugitives were observing their seven targets, the unsuspecting reporters eating their sandwiches and  happily chatting among themselves.

"So what do we do?" Greenwood asked softly.

"Shall we attract them here?" Dobs added.

Jerome smiled and shook his head as Jeremiah took off his prison uniform jacket, leaving only the white shirt underneath, and covering himself with the long coat they had brought with them. "Ready to see a Valeska act?" Jerome asked softly.

Greenwood looked puzzled as Dobs nodded.

Jeremiah smiled, before running a hand through his hair, messing  it up and ruffling  it until it looked disheveled as if someone had pulled it and  bit his lips  until they were reddish .  His green eyes glistening as if  he were holding back tears.

"Go, 'Miah. Distract them well for us,”Jerome said, giggling under his breath. Jeremiah nodded, the smile fading from his lips and then  he rushed  out of their hiding place, running, running as if someone was chasing him, sporadically glancing over his shoulder as he held his coat closed with one hand. Crystalline tears flowing from  his eyes.

And so he joined the seven journalists.

The men immediately noticed the desperate boy running towards them, their former cheerfulness fading into something akin to concern for the young man who was running, looking over his shoulder.

Jeremiah ‘ _accidentally_ ’ ran into one of them, then walked away with a jerk and a strangled and panicked cry, shaking when the others tried to support him so he wouldn't fall.

"Hey, hey, it's okay boy," one of the reporters said in a gentle tone.

Jeremiah looked at him, his green eyes reddened with tears, his expression that could only be defined as scared, desperate, fragile, while he held his right hand tightly in his coat as if it were the only thing that anchored him to reality. His breathing was fast and broken by silent sobs.

"Everything is alright. You're safe,” said another.

“I… I… I'm sorry, I didn't mean…!” Jeremiah sobbed. The attention of all seven men on him, while Jerome and the other three left their observation point, approaching in complete safety.

"It's okay, don't worry," said the reporter he had run into. It didn't take long for the seven reporters to reconstruct what had happened to the boy, after all their job was to put together details to write their articles (almost as it was for detectives to join clues), and really where theirs city had gone  if anyone could do something like  _that_ in the middle of the day?

"Al, call the police," one reporter told another, apparently named Al.

"No!" Jeremiah said, his voice was strangled but clear "No, no, no please… Don't do it… I… she said…"

“Okay, okay, boy. We will not call the police, "Al said, trying to reassure him. None of the men noticed the three menacing figures approaching them, Jeremiah held back his satisfied smile keeping the victim's mask on for a while longer.

"Do you prefer that, I don't know, some of us take you home or contact a relative or friend of yours?" another said a little unsure of his words, not wanting to scare him or result in an accidental double-meaning.

Jeremiah nodded, his gestures just trembling.

"Okay…" said ' _Al_ ' "Is there someone we can call?"

" M-My brother," Jeremiah replied, his voice still trembling but holding back the smile was getting harder and harder with Jerome getting closer and closer.

"Can you give me his name and number so I can contact him?" 'Al' asked.

And Jeremiah could no longer hold back his smile. The seven men looked confused but it disappeared shortly after as Jerome took 'Al''s question as his cue.

"Jerome Valeska and I'm already here, thank you," he replied, a broad smile on his lips as Greenwood and Helzinger grabbed two reporters and Dobkins stunned a third with a surprisingly strong punch for someone as thin as  he was .  Jerome took Jeremiah by the hand and  kissed him on the lips, relying on the shock effect that usually had, to buy enough time to block the others too.

His plan worked as he had expected, since the other four seemed for a moment so  shocked , both by the sudden appearance of Jerome and the others, and by the kiss, that they remained motionless. The speed of action of Greenwood, Helzinger, and the Valeskas was enough that the four didn't even have time to digest it to be disgusted before they were down, stunned along with the other three.

Dragging the seven unconscious journalists onto the roof from the emergency ladder was a bit more complicated, but the view… _the view from up there was breathtaking_ .

As Helzinger finished carrying the bound and blindfolded hostages to the roof, Jerome walked over to the raised ledge, stepping on it and looking first ahead and then down, they were very high up –not like other skyscrapers in the city but higher than Jerome had ever been personally– and looking down he was suddenly struck by the desire to jump, or to let himself fall.

Letting gravity do its job, he could almost see it, hear it, the air whistling around him too fast for him to catch his breath, the asphalt getting closer and  _closer_ .

The boy's gaze shifted to his twin, Jeremiah, who was currently inspecting the hostages as if looking for the name of the team Theo wanted in them. Jerome wondered what Jeremiah would do if he let himself fall… he would probably follow him, throw himself after him and hold him in his arms as they fell down together.

He and Jeremiah had lived every moment of their life together and there was no way or reason, in his mind, why they would not have shared their last moment, breathed their last breath together as they had done for the first. But now was not the time to dwell on these thoughts.

Jerome returned to the roof joining his twin. "So, does anyone have an idea on what we might call each other?" she asked, her tone light and a smile ever present on her face.

"Psychos?" Dobs said in a contemplative tone as he seemed to think of some other name they could use.

"Lunatics?" Greenwood suggested.

"Um,  they are  both nice" agreed Jerome "But they lack theatricality, they are too obvious"

"How about Maniacs, Jer?" Jeremiah suggested "But with an 'X' instead of the final 'C-S'"

"Maniax, you say?" Jerome repeated, repeating the word a couple more times, in different tones, as if he were testing it. Then he turned to the others, his smile wider than before, clapped his hands once and picked up one of the  spray cans “M-A-N-I-A-X! I like it, 'Miah! Come on, let's  start before our letters start moving again "

"But isn't it ' _obvious_ ' like the ones we proposed?" Greenwood contested "What's different, is it because your ' _little brother_ ' said it?"

Jerome turned to the cannibal, the smile on his face was sharp and his eyes cold,  all the mirth gone "Greenwood, honestly, I like you, I mean a serial killer who eats his victims?  _Amazing_ , even if a bit repetitive. " he said, "But you have to understand one thing, only I can call 'Miah,  _little brother_ are we clear? And second, I don't like your tone. You may have killed a dozen women, but my brother and I… we are more dangerous than you, remember that even with the ' _terror_ ' you caused the city, we are the Reds of Arkham, while you are only level two. And you don't want to see us angry, do you? Unless you want to end up like Dr.  Lemming . "

Greenwood took a step back, raising his hands as if to indicate his surrender. He didn't want to end up like Dr.  Lemming . No one who had been in Arkham no matter how insane and detached from reality was stupid enough to push the twins to the point Dr.  Lemming had pushed them, and no one wanted to suffer the same fate as him.

The darkness from Jerome's eyes disappeared and the boy's smile returned to 'normal', however normal that smile of his that was always too wide, always with a hint of psychosis that lurked behind the green of his irises. "Great. And anyway, no, I didn't choose the name because Jeremiah proposed it, but only because it has the right theatricality, and it's original. Come on, Maniacs with the 'X' let's start writing before our letters get too excited "

At the end of the five 'Maniax' present only Jerome and Jeremiah wrote the letters on the hostages, as the others did not hold the spray can well –at least according to Jerome– and did not want to risk them ruining the job.

Then they waited for the reporters to wake up, before starting to take them off the roof, Jerome giving directions to Aaron so that their name was spelled correctly.

"What do we do with the seventh?" Greenwood asked once the six 'letters' were thrown from the roof, while holding the seventh still.

Jerome looked at the hostage for a moment before smiling and taking the spray can, drawing an exclamation point on the hostage. "Aaron,  would you kindly ?" he said pointing to the last hostage. Helzinger grabbed it and carried it to the roof  ledge , he was about to throw it off the roof but Jerome interrupted him "A little to the right… Okay, perfect"

Jeremiah was sitting on the roof  ledge , looking at it all with an elation he had never really felt at all, he knew that hurting people made him happy, but to see them die so simply as if they were little cockroaches? Oh, he liked  it more than he had imagined. Each terrified shriek of their hostages as they fell electrified him, adding a new spike to his euphoria.

Killing Lila had been nice and satisfying, but in a way his anger due to the personal bond he had with the bastard had ruined  the act a bit, he hadn't been able to enjoy it as he usually did when he hurt people or animals he had no connection  to .  _Killing people he didn't know? It was perfect_ . There was no other emotion that clashed with that sense of euphoria he felt, it was just  _perfect_ .

"Now, that's a headline!" his brother's voice was what brought Jeremiah back to reality, out of his mind.

Below them were the seven men they had used as letters for their name, the red of the blood that contrasted sharply with the white of the straitjackets. Fortunately they had fallen without moving too much in their panic, not messing up the order of the letters. ' _M-A-N-I-A-X!_ '. Yes, it was really  a headline .

When Jerome laughed, the slightly hysterical peak of his laugh always there, Jeremiah couldn't help but join his twin, giving an outlet –not at all violent– to the euphoria he felt.

* * *

Theo was very pleased with his 'Maniax', as they would soon be called. It was still early for the Gotham Gazette to publish its article, but the Gotham Daily report had been equally satisfying.

The boys had done exactly what he asked of them. They had caused fear and panic, and they had given that fear an identity.

_Perfect_ .

The millionaire thought, now he just had to let the boys have some 'fun', loosening a little the leash with which he kept them under his control. The more chaos they caused, the more the moment he ' _saved_ ' Bruce Wayne he would be hailed as a hero.

Obviously he had some very specific stages in mind that the boys should have followed, but he would have given them some freedom, especially for the twins. After all, they were a fundamental piece of his plan, he needed them to trust him, to follow his orders without thinking,  or better yet he needed them to blindly follow his orders  and if this meant giving them more  freedom than  the  others he was happy to do it.

He was almost sorry to know that he had to kill one, or both, for the success of his plan.  _But only almost_ .

_After all_ _he didn't care about them as much as he pretended to do_ .


	11. Chapter X: Jealousy has green eyes and a heart full of rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the MANIAX! Presentation act, Theo has a special task to give to the Valeska Twins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little warning for this chapter: there is a quite gorey torture scene in this chapter (Hence the Blood and Gore tag)

The Valeska twins felt like they were in a sugar high –not that they really knew what it was like, although they knew when to use the idiom, they had always worked too hard at the circus and disposed of any sugar too quickly to let it have time to make them hyperactive– first of all because the first task for Theo had gone wonderfully well and second, because well, no one had ever been proud of them before… _Theo Galavan_.

The way he looked at them as he complimented them made them feel accepted for once. And he had made them feel so happy they couldn't get that  silly happy smile off their faces, even if it made them look stupid… too fragile.

And Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska were not fragile, _they never were and never would be_.

In any case, that happiness had not only prevented them from wiping that smile off their face, it had also prevented them from falling asleep.

It was certainly not the first sleepless night they spent, but it was the first caused by something not negative. They didn't even know you could be so happy that you couldn't sleep, it was strange but not unwelcome.

This had led to the fact that the next morning they were the first to show up for breakfast, having to wait for the others to wake up, because at least they had the decency of something called good manners that all their ' _teammates_ ’ obviously lacked.

Breakfast that morning consisted of both glazed and chocolate-covered  doughnuts, presumably all stuffed.

_At least they're not snickerdoodles_ , thought Jerome. Neither he nor his brother loved fried food that much, especially not if it was deep-fried and remained excessively greasy, as it reminded them of their Uncle Zach's favorite type of cooking, but they could handle it over those cookies. Not that they didn't like cookies –or that they had too particular tastes, they had never been able to afford it with their lives– but the fact that Jerome had suffered a burn, caused by their uncle, particularly deep –which had risked becoming more infected(which was something Jeremiah would never forget)– because of that particular type of cookie he had definitely ruined any chance they might enjoy it. So although they didn't particularly like the greasy fried  doughnuts , at least they could eat them without bringing to mind anything that could  bother them too much.

They didn't have to wait long, however, for the others to join them, Aaron and Greenwood immediately grabbed and piled a lot of  doughnuts on their plate without even bothering to say ' _good morning_ '. Dobs instead gave them a small wave with his hand with a sweet smile, a bit spirited, before taking a  doughnut and starting to nibble it. Even the two twins were limited to one each, since for once there was enough for them not to have to divide it.

By the time Theo finally descended from his suite, via the spiral staircase with the golden handrail to the dining room, the twins had long since finished eating their breakfast, slightly bothered by the vague  taste of  grease that remained in their mouths, although it was very vague compared to what they were used to in the circus.

_Uh, who would have thought that the rich also had a high-class version of such a popular dessert_.

"Really good work yesterday, gentlemen," Theo said, showing them today's issue of the Gotham Gazette which featured their ' _presentation_ ' on the front page. “We opened big, the whole town knows your name now. So, _well done_! We deserve a big round of applause "

At those words everyone, except Aaron who was still eating one of his  doughnuts, applauded, Dobs did it by moving his arms in a circle.

"Now that we have Gotham's attention, the Maniax can make their entrance." Theo then said, moving his gaze to each of the 'Maniax'.

Jerome and Jeremiah exchanged a confused look. "So, what was that?" Jerome asked.

“That was just the overture. Now the audience is silent. Waiting.” Theo replied. “The curtain rises,” he added, emphasizing his words with a movement of his hands, which he slowly raised like a curtain rising showing the stage and the actors on it.

"And what happens next?" Jeremiah asked, a part of him quivered with anticipation, but he was not completely sure that the emotion was entirely his, Jerome beside him was following Theo's every movement with rapt attention.

Theo approached them, going around the table, "Then let's put the citizens of Gotham in front of their primal fears," he replied with a grin, this time refraining from placing a hand on the shoulder of the twins, having already seen their reaction to the action "We deprive them of everything they hold dearest and most sacred"

"And what happens next?" Jerome asked, the smile on his face had taken a sinister turn, his eyes had become darker, his tone lower than usual by an octave.

“And then we offer them salvation. After that they'll be _ours_ ,” Theo replied, a smirk, more of a grin than a real smile, curling his lips.

"What are we waiting for?" Greenwood asked, the smile on his lips was scary, but not as disturbing as the one on Jerome's face.

"A little patience, you'll have to learn some  showmanship first," Theo replied.

At those words, an identical confused expression and a hint of disbelief appeared on the faces of the twins, confused because they didn’t know why they should ' _learn some_ _showmanship_ ' and incredulous because… _Did Theo perhaps forget that they had grown up in a circus?_ Acting was in their blood, along with their innate taste for violence.

" Showmanship ?" Greenwood repeated, his words  only barely  understandable since he had spoken them around the mouthful of  doughnuts he was chewing.

"You will go on television, you will have to give yourself an image of style and vitality" Theo explained before turning to Dobs "Dobkins  say : ' _Good evening ladies and gentlemen_ '"

Which Dobs did immediately but in a too soft and uncertain tone.

"Try again, this time with a smile"

Dobs repeated that ' _Good evening ladies and gentlemen_ ' this time with one of his haunted smiles on his face.

Theo didn't appear very happy with it, he turned his attention to Greenwood "You," he said.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" Greenwood exclaimed, his tone high and menacing.

"Not bad," Theo conceded, although he didn't seem entirely satisfied with his performance. "Sinister and authoritarian"; Theo's attention then shifted to Aaron, who was still gorging his mouth with chocolate cream on his  doughnuts . "Uh, it doesn't matter," Galavan said, finally turning his attention to the twins, Jerome in particular. "Jerome?"

Jerome smiled, this was the opportunity he was waiting for to prove to Theo once again that he was better than everyone else, except Jeremiah, he and Jeremiah were on the same level. He cleared his throat and with an agile leap back he climbed into his chair, spreading his arms theatrically before saying, "Ladies and gentlemen, good evening," his tone high and clear, as if he were speaking to a large audience, about to present a new act to the circus. He ended his  act with a half bow. All the other Maniax were watching him with a smile on  their face, Theo looked…  _proud_ exactly as Jerome wanted.

"Very well, boyshly charming," Theo said, a smile twisting his lips. Jerome chuckled, briefly a little higher than usual, “The laugh is fabulous. Use it.”He then added. And finally he turned his attention to Jeremiah.

Unlike his twin, Jeremiah didn't really like being at the,  complete, center of attention, but if he was to show Theo that he  deserved his respect then he would certainly do it. Unlike Jerome, Jeremiah got up from his chair, walking behind it, his arms crossed behind his back, a slight smile on his face.

"Welcome to the show tonight, ladies and gentlemen," he said. His tone was calm but charming, a touch of playfulness that only made his tone more attractive. "For our first act we will  make you see double ," he added, indicating his twin with a broad wave of his hand, Jerome smiled and stood up, only hinting at his bow this time, and only to play his twin's game. "Do any of you suffer from vertigo?" Jeremiah's smile widened a little, the look in his eyes sharp, the persuasive mask slipping behind the predator's.

Theo seemed positively impressed by his little speech, and by the scene he had created. “Well done, Jeremiah. Very theatrical, like your brother," he said "You could use it, you two could keep the audience's attention like nothing else "

"You mean we are a duo?" Jerome asked.

“Of course, but you already know you are. You are twin brothers who am I to tell you that you shouldn't work in pairs? Especially when the results are these,” Theo replied. And his boys seemed very satisfied with the answer, with him the distrust in their eyes that was fading more and more.

At that exact moment Tabitha and Barbara entered the dining room, laughing as they continued to whip the poor mayor who didn't know where he was going due to the metal box closed around his head. After yet another whiplash, thrown by Barbara with a nine-tailed whip, the mayor crashed into the wall, falling back against the floor.

"I'm very happy to see you get along," Theo began, addressing the two, although there was a slight tinge of annoyance in his calm tone. "But we're a little busy here. Could you drop the mayor at the moment? "

"We were bored," Tabitha said, Barbara agreed with her.

"Why should only boys have fun?" Barbara asked

"Your time will come, I told you," Theo replied

"When?" the blonde asked, openly annoyed by this having to wait. "When will my time come?"

"Soon, very soon," Theo replied before turning his gaze to the mayor. "Tell me, did you kill him?"

"I don't think so," Tabitha replied before whipping at the mayor, who moaned in pain "No, he's still alive." As Galavan stepped over the helpless mayor, she noticed the gaze of two pairs of green eyes, one in particular that was directed at the whip she wore with a look she knew well. "Want to try, red?" She asked, a smirk on her face. If Theo could ' _play_ ' with these  boys , well, she could too.

"Tabitha," she heard her brother say to her, the way she had pronounced her name was like a warning, a warning. Tabitha sighed.

"I don't want to hurt him, Theo." She said annoyed "I just saw how he was looking at us and I asked him if he wanted to try, that's all"

Neither of the twins answered, their gaze now shifted to Theo. Tabitha sighed once more. "If you want to vent some of your pent-up anger, you know where to find me, Barbara and the mayor, here" she said, and then start to leave, turning around the room just one more time "The invitation is open only to  the  reds”. And having said this  she left the room.

Soon followed by Barbara.

Theo instead returned to the Maniax telling them to prepare for the next act, then beckoning the twins to follow him.

"You will join the others later," he said. "But first you have to do something for me"

The twins involuntarily nodded even before knowing what Theo wanted.

* * *

The task they had to perform, alone, for Theo was as unexpected as it was welcome.

_Killing Paul Cicero._

The blind fortune teller of the circus, the only person who ever cared for them… the father who had left them in Lila’s ' _care_ ' and who hadn't lifted a finger to help them, even though he heard them scream from his trailer.

_Oh, they were so happy they could go and end that old man's life. So, so happy_ … and so very angry.

They had loved Paul Cicero, they had really loved him. In a way he was the only person they respected in the whole circus. The blind old  fortune teller who had offered them a place in his trailer whenever Lila became too unmanageable, who had  let them prepare , more than once, something to eat when they couldn't find and /or steal something  from numerous visitors to the circus.

_The man who gave them their first and only birthday present._

_They had really loved him_.

But then… then they had discovered that that man was their father, their real father and… and the fact that he had done nothing, nothing at all to take them away from Lila, because he still loved her, had transformed all that affection in a deep  anger , which they had not realized they possessed until they were given the task of killing him.

Killing him and framing him, leaving ' _evidence_ ' in his apartment that suggested that he was the one who broke them out of Arkham.

_Uh, it was funny how the man they once loved was now the perfect scapegoat to be able to_ _stay_ _with the only person in the world who had ever really cared about them_ .

Theo who had freed them from Arkham and given them a place to stay, that yes, used them as weapons, but at the same time cared for them. He was proud of them. He recognized their skills and ingenuity.

Killing Paul Cicero was something they were already happy to do, but killing him so they could stay with Theo, well, made it so much better for them.

The Gotham apartment where Mr. Cicero lived was located in the suburbs of the Narrows, in a building shrouded in the eternal fog that seemed to envelop downtown Gotham. It was anonymous, but large enough for man to live in at ease…

Having arrived well before Paul was home, the two boys had taken some time to place the evidence around, hidden enough to look real, but not too  much as  the cops had to find it anyway, and that was why they noticed that someone else lived with Mr. Cicero.

"Don't tell me he took that guide-boy he had with him at the circus," Jerome hissed, his tone dark with barely restrained anger.

_He couldn't believe it!_

_He just couldn't believe it!_

_He had not saved them from the life of misery they lived. They who were his_ _sons_ _!_

_But that stupid little boy, almost on the verge of being a complete illiterate, yes._

_ He couldn't have saved him… he couldn't,  he just couldn't. _

_Not after abandoning them!_

Jeremiah beside him was motionless, shoulders straight and hands clenched into fists. Their anger that mixed and intertwined and came back into circulation like a perpetual vicious cycle that neither of them could break. Normally it was Jeremiah who kept him in check when his anger got too much, but now he too seemed too lost in his anger to calm him down.

With a violent storm raging inside them, the Valeska twins waited.

And they hoped for the sake of that little boy that Paul Cicero had left him to rot among those in the circus… because they, they would have no mercy.

Ultimately, that kid had simply been unlucky, it wasn't his fault that he had become the  fortune teller’s guide-boy and knew nothing about the situation with the Valeskas… but he had just been really, really unlucky.

* * *

When the  fortune teller had finally returned, Jerome and Jeremiah were there, alert as hawks.

Immediately they heard the voice of the little boy, Quentin, talking to Mr. Cicero, as he carried out his driving duties.

And if the thought had made them angry before, now seeing it confirmed made them furious.

_How could he have considered saving that little boy more than his own_ _sons_ _?_

"Hi, Dad," they both hissed. Quentin moved to open the door again, but Jerome was quicker, throwing a knife,  one of those he had with him, at the boy, piercing his hand from side to side. The kid screamed, but the two didn't care that much, in the Narrows no one would have paid attention to a scream.

"Jerome, Jeremiah how can you…?"

" Be here?" Jerome completed by interrupting the man, getting up from the chair he was sitting on and moving towards the man who had not yet figured out where exactly he was.

"How can we not still be in that terrible,  _terrible asylum_ ?" Jeremiah asked, without looking up from the  sharp edge of the knife he was holding.

"It's a really funny story, you know?" Jerome said as he forced the blind old  fortune teller to sit down, tying his hands behind his back with one of his ties. Quentin was still near the door, curled up on himself, holding his injured hand with the knife still stuck inside  it , completely still, completely in shock.

"And we will tell you about it, but later… because this whole situation reminds me of something" continued Jerome

" Yeah , there's one thing you really need to explain,  _dad_ ," Jeremiah added, grabbing Quentin by the scruff of the neck and dragging him to the floor, regardless of his whining. “Do you remember Kansas City? The circus passed  there every spring for our birthday "

"You remember what our birthdays were like, don't you?" Jerome interjected “Mom always had her little present for us. She drank more, fucked even more people and then she played her game. Do you remember what the game was,  _right_ ? After all, you have  heard the consequences for so long. She took me or Jeremiah,  she chose completely at random each year, and then beat us all night at times, forcing the other to watch. However, this is not the important thing. "

Jeremiah's gaze was fixed on Quentin, he grabbed the handle of the knife that he emerged from the wound but instead of pulling it out he began to twist and  turn it, all while he held his other hand against the boy's mouth. Jerome looked at his brother for a moment before continuing.

“It was our ninth birthday, I had managed to leave the trailer crying, Jeremiah was leaning against the stairs… they had broken his arm, anyway, you were there. And you asked me, ‘ _Why are you crying, Jerome?’_ ‘ _It's our birthday and Mom and the snake-man chose Jeremiah and broke his arm… and… and when I tried to intervene they beat me too_ ’ and you said to me: ‘ _This world is don't care about you or anyone else, Jerome. And you better stick it in your head now’_. And that was it. Which begs one question, dad. If the world doesn't give a damn about anyone, if you didn't lift a finger to help us who are your sons-" he said approaching his twin who had extracted the knife from the child's hand" Why did you save this miserable, little creature?" he asked the blind fortune teller, even though he was looking Quentin straight in the eye, smiling, before poking two fingers into the bleeding hole his brother had opened in the back of the brat's hand.

Laughing when he started whimpering.

Jeremiah smiled, his hand still firmly pressed against the baby's mouth stifling his screams and sobs. Then he leaned slightly, bringing his face close to Quentin's, saying in a whisper, "Do you think this hurts,  _Quentin_ ?" He pronounced his name in a perfect French accent though the way he said it made all his hatred  clear “ Try getting whipped twenty-five times –with a  training whip,  made for animal training – at twelve. If you think this hurts, I want  to be sure you get that we are taking it slow.  _At the moment_ ." he added, his smile changing to a sharp grin.

Quentin once again tried to get away from Jerome, to pull his hand away, but the  redhead had grabbed his wrist so tightly that if it wasn't realistically impossible he would have broken his wrist just by squeezing.

“ _Ah-ha, brat_. Stay still." Jerome warned him, smiling amused, moving his fingers inside the wound, pulling them out, reinserting them and distancing them. Stroking the battered flesh before sinking his nails in, and chuckling reflexively every time he felt it shift and contract under his touch, with each involuntary twitch or not of the brat's hand.

"Jerome, Jeremiah… Quentin is innocent, let him go." Cicero said, his tone was not like the twins were used to hearing him, detached and distant… almost as if he really saw something that no one else could even hope to see, no, he sounded worried… almost as if he was about to beg them to let the  kid go.

It only increased their anger.

"Innocent? Ha! "Jerome exclaimed, his tone bitter" There is no such thing as' _innocence_ ', especially not at Haly's "

"Jerome…"

"No. Don't try to contradict me, not on this. " the  redhead interrupted the fortune-teller preventing him from continuing any further "After all, if you could hear us scream from our trailer, everyone around could. And really, it doesn't take a genius to figure out what was going on in there. "

Quentin fidgeted in Jeremiah's grip and whimpered even harder as Jerome's hand tightened even more tightly around his wrist, his fingers having stopped scratching inside his wound and started to dig.

"'Miah,  darling , pass me the knife" as he made his request, Jerome let go of the child's wrist reaching out to his brother waiting for the knife, with the other hand, now locked on that wound of Quentin, preventing the latter to move away.

Jeremiah passed the weapon to his brother, and replacing the knife – that he pressed against the boy's throat– with the hand that previously held it. Then  he turned to their father: "We're not  deluded enough to believe we were the only ones living in that situation at the circus, but you know… Lila loved  _sharing_ , so for us it was  _a little worse_ than for the others, and since she he had fornicated with practically everyone and I really mean all the men in the circus, they believed they had the right to discipline us as they wanted. In other words, they thought they had the right to beat us up whenever they liked, but you know that. " Jerome and Jeremiah stood up dragging the child with them, and taking him to the table that was in the center of the room, Jerome forced Quentin to rest his injured hand on the wooden surface, then  blocking his wrist again so that he could not retract it. "Which brings us back to the original question, Dad: -" Jeremiah continued, Jerome forced Quentin to spread his fingers –with a flick of the tip of the knife into the wound– as if they were about to play the knife game, but instead pressed the knife against the articulation of the second phalanx of his index "If you haven't helped us who are your  own sons ,  _why_ -"

_Zac_.

Jerome lowered the knife the first time by cutting off the second and third phalanxes of Quentin's index finger, smiling like the madman he was, while the boy choked on his own scream as Jeremiah had tightened the grip he had around his neck at the same moment in which he had tried to scream.

Jerome moved the knife to the joint of the third phalanx of the middle finger.

Jeremiah continued: "I was saying, _why did you_ -"

Zac. Another strangled scream, Jerome chuckled under his breath.

"-  _save_ -"

_Zac. Zac_.

Jeremiah let Quentin scream this time.

Jerome laughed, placing the knife on the edge of the wound they had caused on the back of Quentin's hand, tilting the knife for the sharp point to press against the exposed muscle.

The child was rapidly turning pale.

"- _him, instead of us?_ "

Cicero seemed to really look at them, even if that was impossible, but his milky eyes of him were fixed on them as if he were really seeing them.

"Jerome, Jeremiah…" the fortune teller began and the two boys did not interrupt him only because there was pure regret in his tone. "You don't have to do this. I've been a bad father… I've made many mistakes, the worst of all was to leave you with your mother… but torturing this child for this… "

The twins interrupted his speech with a dry, hysterical laugh. Psychosis at  its peak.

"Do you  believe …" the sentence Jerome was trying to say was drowned out by another laugh "Oh, my god do you really think this is all about the brat?" He finally managed to say between laughter. “Flash news, Dad: We didn't even know he was with you until we got here. We are ' _ torturing _ ' him because  it’s funny. "

"And the funniest thing, you know what it is, dad?" Jeremiah asked, suddenly closing both hands around Quentin's neck, his smile becoming more and more evident, his eyes more and more cold.

The child began to fidget and kick, bringing his free, healthy hand –hitherto blocked by Jeremiah– to the older boy's wrist, scratching and clawing  futililely ,  hurting his injured hand on the knife Jerome had slipped back into the wound. "The funniest thing is to see your reaction to what we do to him." and after that  he laughed, his laugh was a few notes higher than Jerome's and it was completely indisputably psychotic, as if a switch had been turned on in Jeremiah's mind letting everything inside his mental labyrinth came out. "Jerome, take that spoon," he said later, not even his tone was the same, it seemed much more vital, a maniacal joy bubbling under the surface.

Jerome took the spoon.

"Let's show our dear Quentin what the world is like for Dad," Jeremiah  whispered .

The child began to shake his head, crying and pleading in slurred English. Cicero begged them with him to ' _not do this to that poor child'_.

Jerome pinned the boy's head with one hand, his expression reflected in the boy's tearful eyes. His smile was wide and dark, his eyes wide open, his pupils dilated until they almost completely swallowed the green around them.

Jerome felt and saw the reflection of his smile grow wider as he moved the edge of the spoon under the lower lid of Quentin's left eye. He applied a little pressure and with a wet ' _plop_ ' the entire eyeball slipped out of  its seat, a long bloody filament that still connected it to the orbit.

Jerome was almost surprised at the ease with which he had come out.

"Lift it up and drop it, the ocular nerve will pull itself away," Jeremiah explained. Jerome did as his brother had told him, not at all disturbed by how wet, soft and yet strangely solid the eyeball was under his fingertips. He lifted it up, enjoying Quentin's whimpering, and then dropped it. His nerve tore like a string stretched too much and his eye squashed against the floor, leaving a red and transparent stain as liquid as it is gelatinous.

He then repeated the action for the other eye.

Quentin had stopped reacting sometime during the extraction of his right eye.

"Uh, is he dead?" Jerome asked

Jeremiah shook his head "Not yet, I can feel his  pulse under my hands"

"How do we finish  him ?"

Jeremiah smiled, cold and maniacal at the same time, "As we did with crows, Jer."

Jerome smiled, his body trembling with anticipation and the very violence he was practicing, a sadistic joy that ran in his blood. He clapped his hands, asking: " It can be done with a human being?" With a tone that made him look like a child who was looking forward to one last game.

Jeremiah's smile turned into a grin “I don't know. Let's see."

Jerome glanced at their father who had an expression of pure horror on his face, for once that mystical and detached aura that seemed to surround him was gone, he just looked like a pathetic, blind old man. This made him more satisfied than he had imagined. He put his hands on Quentin's shoulders and was a little disappointed by the total lack of reaction of the little boy who 'stared' at him with those empty and bloody eye sockets.

Jeremiah loosened his grip around the brat's neck, squeezing them around the sides of his head, met Jerome's gaze for a moment, and then, in a quick, sharp gesture, pulled Quentin's head back and up, twisting it in the same motion.

The noise that followed the movement was more of a wet ' _pop_ ' than the sound the two boys had imagined hearing, Quentin's body twitched as if it had been traversed by an electrical discharge, all muscles contracting at the same instant, he reminded Jerome of the way crows flapped their wings one last time when his brother  snapped their necks.

"With this we can conclude that: Yes, it can be done," Jeremiah commented, letting go of the boy's head which fell limply back, his neck bending at an unnaturally tight angle.

Jerome released his hold on Quentin's shoulders, letting his paralyzed body fall back against the floor. "So he's dead now?" he asked tapping the body’s side with the tip of his shoe.

"Nah" Jeremiah replied, now seeming disinterested in their victim, his gaze fixed on Cicero "He's suffocating now, since his lungs have stopped working, soon his heart will do the same"

“Cool… and cruel. _I like it._ ” Jerome commented, soon losing interest in their slowly dying victim too, and approached their father.

" _See_?” Jeremiah stifling a chuckle at his own word usage. “Well you can’t see, but you get what I meant. Now we're done torturing him,”Jeremiah said in that cheerful, maniacal tone that Jerome had never heard him use before.

The fortune teller didn’t react in any way to his words… or to his tone.

"Are you giving us the silent treatment?" Jerome asked.

"Oh!  _I get it_ !" Jeremiah exclaimed “We  distubed you, right? You didn't expect to have monsters like us as children, am I wrong? "

"You're not monsters," the old  fortune teller whispered.

"Really? You don’t think we're monsters? " Jeremiah asked as Jerome said sarcastically, "Oh, it really warms my heart to hear you say that."

"No, you are not monsters… you just lost your way," the man replied.

"You know it's almost touching to hear you think so," Jeremiah said "Too bad we have to kill you anyway"

"It's not personal, dad, I mean it's kinda personal but not only." Jerome added "See, there's this guy who pulled us out of Arkham and he sees us for what we are, he sees what others have never seen and… and he wants to make us _stars_ , you know?"

“The thing is…” Jeremiah continued, “he can't get caught, for obvious reasons, so we need someone to take the blame for him. And here comes you, _dad_ , we hid evidence in your apartment, a map of Arkham and letters, a correspondence between you and us –by the way I can't believe you didn't actually write to us while we were in Arkham… although… why on earth would I have thought otherwise?– Uh, I'm digressing, what you need to know is that the cops will think that you, you were the one who broke us out of there. "

"' _That poor fool really loved his children_ ,'" said Jerome, pretending a tone of wonder and sadness at the same time, mimicking the bitter expression on the face of one of the policemen who would have fallen into their deception.

"They will never believe it," contested the fortune teller.

“Oh, no they will. The cops are stupid." Jeremiah said refuting his father's objection. Jerome went back to where they left Quentin's body –technically he wasn't dead yet but soon would be– and took the knife and then returned to his brother's side.

"We almost would have liked you to see us-" Jerome chuckled "become stars… but, well, _too bad._ "

Jerome raised  the knife  Jeremiah had given him , before stopping and saying, “Wait a minute, you're a fortune teller right? Tell us, will we be able to leave our mark on this city? "

The old  fortune teller turned his blind gaze on them as if he saw them, something in his expression was different, but it was difficult to understand what and when he spoke his tone was deep and foreign as if someone else was speaking using his voice: "You will be  a curse upon Gotham .  Children  will wake up screaming at the thought of you, yours will be a  _legacy of death and madness_ "

The twins exchanged a look and laughed.

"Say hello to mom from us," Jeremiah  said in a light-toned whisper and at that exact moment Jerome lowered the knife on their father's face, piercing one of his blind eyes and killing him instantly.

"Well, that was fun," Jerome said, on his face, and Jeremiah's, there was no longer any trace of darkness, walking to the kitchen part of the open space and washing his hands of blood in the steel sink.

" Yeah ." Jeremiah agreed “Hey, Jer, do you think there's something good in the fridge? All this activity made me hungry "; before Jerome could say or do anything Jeremiah had already joined him in the kitchen, checking the fridge, where, judging by the disappointed grimace on his face, there  was nothing.

" We could go to Dunkin' Donuts near Theo's skyscraper?" Jerome proposed, while his brother closed the fridge.

"Someone might recognize us…"

“With these clothes and this haircut? Nah, they didn't recognize you while you still wore the Arkham uniform. I doubt they would recognize us now. We could even talk to Jimbo and he would be none the wiser,” Jerome assured him with a smile.

Jeremiah just chuckled at the thought of meeting and  tricking Jim Gordon again. He shook his head, chasing the image away and then walked over to Quentin, taking the money he knew Cicero had given him, since  it was the kid who did the shopping, for obvious reasons.

He headed for the door, followed by Jerome.

"Let’s go, I'm starving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is my rewriting of the series I decided to change the order of events reguarding the Maniax Arc, so it won't be: "MANIAX!act-Cheerleader on fire- Attack at the GCPD- Cicero's Death- Gala" but "MANIAX!act-Cicero's Death-Cheerleader on fire-Attack at the GCPD- Gala".  
> I did this because I though that it felt more in-character(?), like Theo wanted the police to believe that Jerome(And Jeremiah in my AU) had freed himself with the help of their father right? And I feel like the Twins wouldn't have waited that much time before killing Cicero since they hate him a hell of a lot for his betrayal.


	12. Chapter XI: The second act is about to start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The GCPD is finally notified about Arkham's breakout.
> 
> In the meantime the Twins get further and further ensnared into Theo's web of lies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little warning: Jeremiah has some morbid thoughts in this chapter (they are not descripted in detail, and are mostly left to interpretation but I though to give a little heads up anyways)

The situation at the Gotham City Police Department was…  _tense_ , to put it mildly. Twenty-four hours ago they were notified by the Arkham Asylum that there had been an escape, and forty-eight hours ago unknown men had thrown seven reporters from the roof of the building where the Gotham Gazette was stationed. It had not been difficult once Arkham was warned that the two events were connected and that Arkham had withheld information from the police so as not to dent its already precarious reputation as a mental health institution.

The only question that had remained unanswered –until a few hours earlier– was:  _Who were the fugitives?_

The Arkham administration had sent them the names and files concerning the fugitives, just hours after finally informing them of the escape. And reading the list of names, two distinct emotions had made their presence known to Jim, the first: surprise and the second: A kind of…  _sadness_ . Because he knew three of the names on that list… and part of him couldn't get it out of his head that whatever they had done and would do until they were arrested again… _was his fault_ .

He knew Arkham would be bad, but the other option was Blackgate and he suspected none of them would survive there for long.

Jim shook his head as if trying to chase that thought away as he made his way to Commissioner Essen's office, relaying the information he had gotten to her.

Immediately the commissioner assembled the entire police force in the hall of the department, a projector mounted in front of a white screen, so that they could effectively present to all the criminals they were dealing with.

"You all know what we are dealing with" began the commissioner "48 hours ago seven inmates escaped from the Arkham Asylum, yesterday five of these inmates kidnapped seven journalists from the Gotham Gazette and then threw them from the roof of the head office of the newspaper they worked for. At the moment we do not yet have information on who may be responsible or responsible for the evasion. The detective in charge of the case is Jim Gordon. "  she concluded, letting the detective explain the details of the case. And  present the crucial information,  _the identity of the fugitives_ .

"Here, these are our  suspects ," Jim said, walking behind the digital projector and operating it, projecting the first slide onto the white screen. “Arnold Dobkins, schizophrenic. Poisoner and rapist. " Jim moved on to the next slide "Robert Greenwood killed and ate a dozen women," and this caused shock among the cops, others seemed to be remembering the case, Jim switched to the other slide "Aaron Helzinger killed his entire family  with bare hands, "A click and the slide passed space to the other, and Jim sighed, some of the policemen looked at him with empathy and regret" Barbara Kean killed her parents "; another click; "Richard Sionis, psychopath, millionaire and guilty of the massacre of twenty-five people"; another click, the slide presented the mug shots side by side of the two Valeska twins, Jerome seemed to laugh at the discomfort his photo caused to the agents, Jeremiah seemed to be staring at them as if he could read their minds; “Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska; eighteen years old, matricides, arsonists and  murderers . They are to be considered highly psychotic. " Jim said before turning off the projector, trying to stifle the wave of guilt that had pervaded him, as he moved in front of the screen.

He didn't expect the open discomfort, the anxious nervousness he saw in his colleagues… they hadn't even seen the twins until they were taken away,  _why were they so… worried?_

“Now, listen. There are some things you need to know in order to face them," he began. "Arnold Dobkins, according to his files, is often lost in his hallucinations, you shouldn't have any particular difficulty dealing with him. Robert Greenwood, the cannibal of the Narrows if you meet him don't let him get near. Aaron Helzinger, he is very strong and difficult to control, use all means necessary to subdue and arrest him. Barbara Kean is unstable and will not hesitate to hurt you if she gets the chance. Richard Sionis is an expert in Krav Maga, an Israeli fighting style, engage him in a direct confrontation only if it is the only possibility at your disposal." He continued, the other agents were alert and seemed to be memorizing information about the fugitives so that they wouldn't be at a disadvantage if they were forced to engage in a fight with them before they could be arrested. "The Valeska twins are… highly psychotic, as you already know."

Many agents nodded and Jim heard someone mutter a ' _crazy_ ' under their breath, which inexplicably irritated him despite the fact that he himself thought so, in part.

"But this is not the only thing, they are violent, skilled manipulators and, according to the reports of the people who have known them, they are experts in the use of many weapons, moreover, they may not have formal training in combat but do not underestimate them,  they have managed in more than one instance, in Arkham, to subdue and overcome, with their bare hands, four fully armed  guards ."

That last statement led to many  shocked and negatively surprised exclamations.

_Two seventeen year-olds, neo-eighteen year olds, who managed, unarmed, to get the better of a fully armed escort_ ? _It didn't seem possible… but they had done it and knowing that now they were on the loose was terrible._

The policemen were dismissed and returned to their regular posts.

At that moment Harvey came to accompany him there was a man, just slightly taller than him, brown hair and hazel eyes,  he  wore the Arkham security uniform, but with a red circle around the asylum recognition logo, he must have been one of the agents guarding the twins.

The only survivor among the guards present in the recreation room during the escape.

"Detective Gordon," the man said. "I'm Jongleur Palmer, Arkham Red's containment agent," he introduced himself, and Gordon couldn't shake the thought that there was something…  _strange_ about this agent.

"Was he sent by Arkham to give us an account of the events of the escape?"  he asked .

"That's correct, Detective," Agent Palmer confirmed, an imperceptible smile curled his lips.

And Jim felt a cold shiver run through his body, as if a gust of cold air had hit him, because the smile on that agent's face was identical to that of the Valeska twins.

* * *

Meanwhile the Valeska twins were walking the streets of Gotham, in a distorted reflection of something that had only happened a year ago, only now instead of Mr. Cicero's second-hand clothes they wore suits tailored to them.  They almost looked like the  offsprings of one of Gotham's prominent families.

_ No one on the streets seemed to recognize them. _

Not even the two agents who passed by them, one was so distracted he accidentally bumped into Jeremiah, looked  at  him straight in the eye, Jeremiah looked back, not even a trace of nervousness in him and the agent apologized, reuniting with his colleague to continue patrolling.

The twins would have laughed at it, were it not that the sound of their laughter might have attracted unwanted attention.

They were close to the Galavan skyscraper, the black and gold of the facade decorated with large windows that overlooked all the buildings in the immediate vicinity, they would have returned immediately, but first… 

Their entry into the  place had attracted the attention of someone, apparently not so used to seeing people like them (or rather what their appearance suggested they were) stopping there.

There were not many customers and the twins  didn’t have to wait long, almost  no time at all to be honest, before reaching the counter to be able to place their orders.

"Welcome to Dunkin 'Donuts, how can I help you?" asked the counter, the smile on her lips was polite and so false that Jerome was annoyed,  _what was the point of smiling if you didn't really mean it?_

Jeremiah didn't seem to be as bothered by it as his brother.

"I'd like a Vanilla Chai Milkshake and a cinnamon donut, please," he gave his order, his tone polite and his cadence completely different, a hint of an accent that wasn't his own weighing on the words.

The girl nodded "Your order will be ready soon, sir," she said after passing the order to the boy behind the counter where there were sweets and breakfast pieces, and behind which next to the boy was a machine that was supposed to be  for smoothies. The  cashier moved her gaze to Jerome "What can I do for you, sir?"

"I'd like a Nutella Frozen Chocolate and a cinnamon donut, thank you," he replied, his tone mimicking his twin's to perfection.

It didn't take long for their orders to be ready, the girl handed them over to them and told them the total bill, which the boys paid without problems with the money requisite from Mr. Cicero and his guide-boy. Before they could take their seats, however, the girl stopped them.

“Um, I don't mean to sound indiscreet, but… I think… I've seen you somewhere before,” she said.

Jeremiah tensed imperceptibly, Jerome gave her one of his most charming smiles.

"It could be. We are models, you may have seen us in some magazine, "he lied easily, everything from his tone to the smallest of his gestures exuded honesty.

"Very likely… I'm sorry I bothered you," she apologized with a nervous smile much more genuine than the  one of  courtesy she had given them earlier, a slight  blush on her cheeks.

"No problem," Jerome said, still with that smile on his face.

The twins were finally able to take a seat at a small table, away from the others to have their snack before returning to Theo.

"What did I tell you, 'Miah?" Jerome whispered, his tone so low that even Jeremiah had trouble hearing it, or at least he would have had it if he wasn't used to that whispered kind of tone.

"It's amazing how easy it is to go unnoticed in this city," Jeremiah said in a whisper instead of answering his brother, before taking a sip of his Vanilla Chai.

“It's really easy to understand why if you think about it” Jerome took a bite of his donut and then a sip of his milkshake “Wow… this milkshake really tastes like Nutella. And to think that there isn't even… uh… anyway what was I saying? Oh, right, it's really simple to get why, 'Miah, they expect two violent madmen, so they painted us, but we… we're just normal guys nobody would ever suspect that we are who we are "

Jeremiah nodded and then a comfortable silence fell between the twins as they finished their snack / little celebration of getting rid of their self-righteous father.

Once they had finished, and a polite greeting later, the two returned to the Galavan skyscraper.

Theo was waiting for them, in the penthouse, and seemed annoyed, their contentment smothered like a fire under a glass at that sight.

_ Not… not that they really cared about someone's opinion that wasn't themselves. Of course, they never cared… but… _

Theo seemed to notice them only when they entered the penthouse's anteroom, his expression changed perceptibly, the annoyance left his face.

And the twins heaved a sigh of relief.

" Boys !" Theo welcomed them, approaching them "I trust that your task has been successfully completed," he added then, there was a note of tension in his voice, a warning for them.

Jerome smiled and nodded "Everything went well, Theo," he replied.

"We placed the evidence implying Cicero's involvement and killed him," Jeremiah reported.

"Perfect," the man said "I knew I could count on you," he added, and then motioned them to follow him, the twins did so without a single doubt, any form of distrust was quickly vanishing from their minds.

Although their natural reticence reappeared when the man led them to a room that the two were sure they hadn't seen on the ' _tour_ ' of the penthouse that had been given to the Maniax by the Galavans.

"This is my personal office," he informed them as if he had felt the peak of emotion that had run through them. "I have things to tell you and I don't want your companions to listen to them," he added, his tone having taken an almost calming note. It was as if he sensed their unease and wanted to dispel it.

But even if Theo's words and his presence were comforting, something prevented the twins from completely relaxing, perhaps it was  because of the dim light that engulfed the office giving the environment an oppressive air –certainly helped by the fact that there  wasn’t a single element of the furniture that was not ebony and with a sharp,  Gothic style– the lights that illuminated the office were dim and came from luminous spheres held in the hands of bronze statues that seemed to be coming out of portions of the walls that were between the tall bookcases. Which, if possible, created an even less comforting effect.

Theo motioned for them to enter before closing the door behind them, ' _just as a precaution,'_ he said as soon as he noticed how the action had made the twins even more tense.

_ Strange, he never thought that the two Valeskas could REALLY be scared of anything. _

It was, at least, interesting, since the two boys hadn't reacted with a hint of fear even when they woke up, tied up, in the penthouse with the other Arkham prisoners. They weren't even scared when Tabitha killed Sionis before their eyes. So seeing them so scared now was…  _interesting_ .

He motioned to the two boys to take their seats in the two chairs –which were more armchairs than chairs for ornamentation and padding of the back and seat– placed in front of his desk, while he went around it.

The twins were still surprisingly tense with their usual 'carefree' attitude, their green eyes fixed on him, studying his every move.

"Arkham has reported your escape to the department" he began "You should expect to be hindered, or troubled by agents in the near future"

The twins exchanged a glance and then Jerome spoke, “… Uh, why didn't you want the others to know? Wouldn't it be beneficial for everyone if they too know it? "

"Normally it would be," Theo replied, looking at the two boys who now seemed to be less worried than before, but not quite, there was still a tension that persisted in their posture as if they were waiting for something, as if they were just waiting for an excuse to snap, to attack; “But, the other Maniax are opportunists –Greenwood at least is– and they wouldn't hesitate to screw  this up,  to  force me to take care of them like I did Sionis. After all-” Theo continued, not being able to help but notice how the two boys had, involuntarily, almost imperceptibly moved forward as his tone changed. “- not everyone can understand that it means becoming a legend. But you,  you do , I see it in your eyes. This is why I warned you and not them, you are indispensable…  _they not so much_ " he concluded, underlining that last part in a tone that could have passed for threat, but that had a far from negative effect on the boys. Their unnerving soulless smiles that folded their lips again and their dark and ecstatic gaze fixed on his.

And it is at that exact moment that Theo realized that, even if they did not yet fully trust him, they would still do whatever he asked them, that they would listen to his every single word. He realized the power he held over those boys, those two little doll-faced monsters.

That realization was… _exciting_ .

_No, more_ _than that_ .

And he didn't even try to hide the smile,  more of a satisfied smirk that appeared on his face when as they left his office he put his hand on Jerome's shoulder and the boy didn't even flinch.

Not even the fact that due to Arkham's announcement, he would have to delay the next attack by a couple of days was enough to cloud his satisfaction.

* * *

Greenwood was in the kitchen, obviously he would be there. The cannibal was always hungry, but that wasn't all that surprising, considering that, before Arkham, he was used to meals rich in meat butchered with his own hand. Twelve women in almost four months, that man had to eat like a hungry beast to consume so much.

A properly preserved human body, and based on its weight, could last anywhere from one to two months, so it was pretty amazing that the Narrows cannibal had devoured so many people in such a short time.

At the same time, Jeremiah was intrigued, not by the fact that he devoured his victims, no, he considered that brutal and animalistic detail. But he was intrigued, almost attracted by the idea  of  being surrounded by so much death, so many frozen bodies, the stiffening of death gone,  _malleable, manipulable under his hands…_

"Hey, Greenwood," Jerome's voice brought Jeremiah back to reality. His twin had approached the cannibal, in his hand he had a transparent plastic bag inside the bag there was another wrapper and ice that had almost melted.

"You're back," the man noted, apparently annoyed, he didn't seem to appreciate their presence from what had happened on the roof of the Gotham Gazette.

"Yes, and we brought something for you…  _a small present,_ let's say," Jerome said, handing the bag to Greenwood, who took it and gave them suspicious looks, before pulling the wrapper out of the bag, weighing it in his hands as if he suspected a deception. Jerome smiled.

"We were more or less on good terms in Arkham, we'd rather it stay that way," Jeremiah said as the man opened the  wrapping .

Greenwood looked at the content and then turned his gaze to them "Is it… -?"

"Human flesh, yes," Jeremiah replied.

"Where did you get it…?" the man stopped "Did you go hunting?"

"In a way," Jerome replied, shrugging casually.

Greenwood smiled "If this is your first time doing this… you have a nice hand, the cut is as clean as a butcher's" he complimented them. "Oh, I knew  _I liked you,_ " he added then, taking the wrapper and heading towards the stove.

The two Valeskas watched him fumble with the knobs of the aforementioned stoves, trying to light one before putting a pan on the flame. Only then did he seem to remember their presence, or perhaps the reason for their ' _gift_ ', "Consider everything as before," he said, and then the two heard him whisper softly, a contented ' _finally something fresh_ '.

The twins left the cannibal at his meal and retired to the room that had been assigned to them.

It was still afternoon, but the twins felt exhausted.

The image that had presented itself in Jeremiah's mind, however, did not leave his mind, on the contrary it appeared in his dreams.

* * *

"’ Miah, "Jerome said, as if calling him to get his attention before starting to speak, his gaze fixed on the high ceiling of the room.

They had slept all afternoon and now even if it was night they were awake and Jerome could not go back to sleep unlike his brother who seemed to have no problem getting back into Morpheus' arms.

" Yes ?" his brother answered, his face half hidden by the pillow, his hair messed up differently from when he was awake, or fully awake since he was still half asleep at the time.

Jerome's gaze fell on his "Have you ever wondered if it's  _wrong_ ?"

That question seemed to completely wake up his twin who looked at him with attentive eyes, a trace of concern on his face. "What's  _wrong_ , Jer?"

"Uh…  _this_ ," Jerome replied, his tone uncertain as if he didn't really know how to answer  his question.

"You mean what we're doing for Theo?"

"No," he replied immediately "No, I meant…  _this_ " he said moving a hand to point to himself and then to his brother,  to their intertwined legs " Us , what we  do …"

Jeremiah looked definitely worried now. “No, of course not. Why  would you think that? "

“I… I don't really know. I know it's a stupid question but… _I don't know_. I was thinking about how nice it will be to be recognized by everyone in this city when I remembered those two, brother and sister, who had joined the circus while we were crossing Oregon… do you remember them? The guy was a hypnotist, a damn good one…"

"Yes, I remember they were the…  _Tetch_ –I think it was their surname–  siblings ?"

Jerome nodded "I don't know why they came to my mind, but I remembered what they did when they discovered them and I can't stop thinking about it"

"Those in the circus have always been animals"

"If they had discovered us they would have done it to us too"

"No" Jeremiah just shook his head "They wouldn't have done that, sending us away would have meant sending Lila away and you know they never would"

"Sure, because otherwise they'd have to find someone else to put it in," Jerome commented, a laugh as mocking as it was bitter, left his lips thick as gall.

Jeremiah nodded, a smile, which corresponded in tone to his brother's laughter, which folded his lips, but the smile soon disappeared, and the boy's expression softened. "Honestly it doesn't matter if it's wrong or not," he said. "What matters is that, Jer, you are my twin, you are my brother, my best friend,  _my other half, you are my everything_ ,  _you are mine… and I'm yours_ . And if anyone ever tries to separate us, I'll hang  them from a tree with  their own intestine. "

Jerome felt comforted and felt his heart warm to those words, even if that last sentence brought an amused smile to his face. "There are no trees in this part of Gotham," he commented, the smile still on his face.

Jeremiah shrugged "Then I'll hang them on the street lamps"

"That's…  _a lot of dead people_ , 'Miah"

Jerome's joke  didn’t have the desired effect, quite the contrary. Jeremiah kept his gaze fixed on his with a strange intensity, Jerome saw the same frightening obsessive mania, he had seen in their father's apartment deep in the irises of his twin, who smiled dreamily and cruel at the same time, "I'd burn Gotham for you, Jerome. I would burn it to the ground piece by piece, I would destroy it down to the foundations and then I would make those disappear too. " he said with the same determination as a promise " _I would do anything for you, anything._ "

Jeremiah was scary with that tone, with that light in his eyes, he seemed even more dangerous than usual, he seemed less controlled, more erratic,  _more unpredictable_ .

Jerome felt a shiver run down his spine, gathering in the warmth that had blossomed in his chest and descended quickly as Jeremiah's manic gaze glued to his.

"Kiss me," he said, almost in an order. Jeremiah grinned, and Jerome had no idea what was going on in his twin's mind  since they tortured Quentin but that look of his…

"With  _pleasure_ " and pronounced those words Jeremiah closed any distance, however small it was, between them, their bodies close to each other. And while Jeremiah's gaze was unusual, the kiss they shared was familiar enough to silence the worried voice in Jerome's mind.

"I would do anything for you too, 'Miah" Jerome whispered, once the kiss was over, his forehead resting on his twin's and his gaze fixed on Jeremiah’s still, maniacal one. Jeremiah smiled, sweet and indefinable at the same time.

"Believe me, Jerome,  _I know_ "

Jeremiah's eyes were dark and yet they seemed to shine at that moment, and looking into those sparkling irises, Jerome was able to see the image that was hidden behind them.

They victorious and  _Gotham burning, devoured by rubidium flames_ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are curious about the rubidium flame, I chose that because rubidium burns purple-green, and that's usually Joker scheme color.


	13. Chapter XII: The Guard, the Doctor and the Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim finds the twins' diaries, and calls the twins' psychiatrists to discover more about the two.  
> While Harvey has to interrogate the Twins' Guard, Jongleur Palmer.
> 
> Meanwhile the two Valeskas have a bit of fun before the Second Act.

Jongleur had expected to see some GCPD cars at Arkham Asylum when he returned for his shift, what he did not expect was to see Detective Gordon coming towards him, his partner and two other agents in tow, in hand he had a closed evidence envelope with something inside.

Blood  froze in his veins, before the sensation faded behind the heat of annoyance when he saw that the envelope contained the diaries of the two Valeska twins: Jerome's diary with the cover covered with glittery elements (an ice cream cone with a heart on top and many little hearts around) that shone in the sun and Jeremiah's diary with its mahogany-colored faux leather cover featured a complex tiny geometric design on the  spine and a stylized malevolent expression on the cover, the smile of the figure traced with numerous ' _HA! HA!_ ’s that varied in height.

_ How had they found them? _

As soon as Gordon and his partner were close, the detectives said, "Jongleur Palmer,  you are under arrest for obstructing justice."

" _What_ ?" Jongleur exclaimed in shock, while Bullock handcuffed him "And with what evidence?!" he then added.

"I advise you to remain silent, anything you say can be used against you in court," replied Gordon instead. And Jongleur gave him a look of open hatred as Bullock and the other two agents led him away.

And Jim couldn't get rid of the idea that there was something strange about that agent, something too similar to the two Valeskas to be a mere coincidence.

Back in the department, while Harvey questioned Palmer, Jim concentrated on looking for clues in the Valeska twins'  diaries, although he was pretty sure what he would find inside them would be…  _creepy_ , to put it mildly,  and probably absolutely disturbing, if he was being honest with himself. But he  gathered his courage, took a breath and opened the  Jerome’s diary reading – and observing as every few pages there were some illustrations– each of the murderous fantasies and disturbing thoughts that had been entrusted to those pages.

' _Dear Diary,_

_~~ Do you think Now that I think about it all of this is really stupid ~~ _

_ I dreamed of Lila last night, it was weird, really weird.  _ ~~ _ I stopped having dreams about her when me and 'Miah killed her _ ~~ _. She was covered in cuts and had a snake, an anaconda, _ ~~ _ maybe _ ~~ ~~ _ ,  _ ~~ ~~ _ it seemed  _ ~~ ~~ _ more like a giant mamba _ ~~ _ , between her legs and moaned like a bitch.  _ ~~ _ Not that this is new to me _ ~~ _. _

_ Then the anaconda stopped moving, and began to dry out, its scaly skin shattered.  ~~ And it makes no sense, I know it makes no sense, of course I know ~~ , but instead of the anaconda, between Lila's legs, there was  ~~ Jeremiah ~~ . _

~~ _ Maybe I should  _ ~~ ~~ _ tell _ ~~ ~~ _ Harley about  _ ~~ ~~ _ this _ ~~ ~~ _.  _ ~~ _ No _ '

Jim turned the page, finding in the new a particularly detailed illustration of Lila Valeska, the woman seemed to be lying on something, a long slit that ran through her body starting from the neck to the groin, surrounded by rats that seemed to be pouncing on her, the expression on  her face was a mask of distorted suffering.

The Detective changed the page again and then did it again and  _again_ , reading and observing the fruits of Jerome Valeska's  twisted mind, feeling as if he was slipping further and further into the rabbit hole, away from any reasonableness because among those pages nothing was constant apart from violence and depravity.

' _If_ [the name had been made unrecognizable by the angry erasures made on it]  _tried to leave me, I would tie him to a tree, covered in sugar and honey and watch while the ants devour him_ '

On the next page he had found a rather detailed portrait of Jeremiah Valeska, was written next to it  there were the words : ' _Mom’s_ _Perfect Miah_ ', the only detail that  didn’t correspond to the boy he had met was the pair of glasses he was wearing, his eyes in the drawing had been  crossed with two cartoon-style 'X's, and two red lines had been marked in the corners of his mouth, drawn upwards as if forming a smile. And with the sentence underneath: ' _Mom couldn't fix_ _him,_ _so she tried to destroy_ _him_ '.

After a few pages –in one of which the young criminal had named an Arkham nurse to whom he would be happy to: ' _cut off his hands and hang somewhere using his intestines as a rope_ '–, the Detective had to stop,  for a moment, to clean his head from what he was reading, then started again.

Another illustration by Lila Valeska was on that page, the woman wrapped in two large snakes –Jim had no idea what species they were, but they were so detailed (flat triangular head, swollen near the eyes giving the snake's head the shape of a leaf, long body with a line of scales that appeared raised along the top) that had no doubts that they were real snakes– and around the figures, written in disordered capital letters and  traced so many times over as to have left deep impressions even on the following pages, were the words: ' _I hate you_ ' repeated more than once.

Jim's disquiet had only grown when he began to see his name in Jerome's crazy ramblings, when he began to see himself integrated into his detours. There were enough descriptions of torments, illogical and unnecessarily cruel, that would be enough for a lifetime.

But nothing about a possible escape plan.

_Nothing_ .

Jim reached the last page written by the boy, and it was a drawing, still incomplete, Gordon was able to recognize himself immediately. As he immediately  noticed that the portrait was normal, there was no trace of damage or unnatural expressions on his face, everything looked…  _normal_ . And then he saw a little comment scribbled on a corner: ' _I bet Jimbo is like Leo_ '.

And the Detective had no idea who this  _Leo_ was, but he found himself disturbed by the comparison anyway, because if the boy had mentioned him, there was certainly something about this 'Leo' that recalled the same mark of madness as the young Valeska. 

The Detective closed the diary one last time and put it back in the evidence bag, extracting Jeremiah's instead. He immediately noticed that the symbol on the cover was indented in the faux leather, as if it had been traced and retraced repeatedly until it left dark marks imprinted on the faux leather, for a brief moment he wondered why Jeremiah had done it.

But he didn't really have time to think about these details.  He opened Jeremiah's diary and began reading.

' _Elizabeth Arkham Asylum is not exactly where I had, we had, imagined going after leaving Haly's but all in all it is better than' home ', despite how gloomy and monochromatic and, generally, heavy the environment is around here._

_During the night, I have no trouble understanding why Lovecraft decided to give Arkham a special place in his world of horrors._ '

One of the first things he noticed while reading was that the twins had the same handwriting and Jim couldn't help but wonder if there was any particular reason behind this, it was usually impossible for two people to have the same handwriting… but the two Valeskas handwriting were identical up to the last point, the only difference was that compared to Jerome, Jeremiah's was more orderly, as if he wrote with less haste than his brother.

The second was the fact that Jeremiah was more analytical and detached than his twin, some of the things he wrote were so impersonal that they seemed like reports  of his day in Arkham, others were just disturbing.  _How could anyone describe all the ways to hurt someone and seem so careless_ _and nonchalant_ _about it?_

Despite this, the contents of Jeremiah's diary were generally less disturbing than that of his twin, mainly because there were more mazes and obscure geometric figures on that diary than was  writing , even if that didn't mean there were no thoughts in that diary that had made Gordon shiver,  and his skin crawl . One of the few pages containing anything written was smeared, with irregular circular spots of red faded to a  reddish-brown , which made the detective think it was blood.

' _Leaving a pen near a "psychotic_ _murderer_ _" is not a particularly smart move._

_Saying that_ _they_ _want to separate me from Jerome_ _or hurt my twin_ _is counterproductive to the life of those who said it._

_Leaving a pen in my vicinity after saying_ _you_ _want to_ _hurt_ _my_ _Jerome is a death sentence._

_I'm not crazy… Skinner deserved the end,_ _I gave him_ '

Jim had no trouble imagining the blankness of Jeremiah Valeska's face, seeing  his empty green eyes staring at the man he had just killed without a glimmer of anything remotely similar to emotion, not even a trace of remorse.  And for a moment his thoughts hanged on that ‘ _my_ ’ underlined, Jim could almost  _feel_ the possessiveness exude from that single word, and he had to suppress a shudder. 

_ Those twins weren’t normal at all, were they? _

The detective shook his head, imperceptibly, to chase that image away, turning the page, and then doing it again and again, labyrinth after labyrinth filling the pages, each more complex than the last, all solved except one that it seemed apparently without exits.

‘ _The only person who will never be able to leave the labyrinth is the man who built it, because every time he closes his eyes he will be inside it again’_

This sentence was written in close handwriting in the heart of the labyrinth.

Again, however, Jim found nothing that could help him figure out where the twins were or how they had left Arkham.

* * *

"Nothing, Palmer keeps insisting that the diaries were in his possession only because they were in his custody until the psychiatrists of the two Valeskas returned," Harvey informed him as soon as he left the interrogation room, and  as soon as he noticed the look on his face. "Did you have any luck with their diaries?"

"No," Jim replied, a silent sigh that escaped his control "If we don't consider all the torture fantasies in Jerome's diary and the analytical and detached ramblings in Jeremiah's."

"Those  boys are completely out of their minds," Harvey said as he and Jim walked a little way from the interrogation room door.

"That's an understatement," Gordon agreed. "Did you notice anything odd about Palmer?"  he asked suddenly after a few moments of silence, taking  his partner by surprise.

“Not really, in fact he looks in a better shape than many of the other Arkham guards we've talked to… well, at least he hasn't begun to list all the reasons why Arkham is one of the safest places in Gotham, like he's a broken record. " Harvey answered, turning an inquisitive look to Gordon “Why? Did you notice anything in his behavior? "

"Not exactly, but I feel there is something…  _strange_ , as if…" Gordon began, unable to complete the sentence as if he could not find the correct word or definition.

" As if there's something wrong, even if you can't point your finger at what exactly it is?" Harvey said, completing the sentence with a slightly questioning intonation.

"Yes exactly" Jim confirmed, before a hint of confusion appeared in his expression "Wait… I thought you said that Palmer seemed normal to you"

Harvey nodded "Yes, and  he really looks like  normal compared to some of the other Arkham agents, but looking back on the interrogation… yes, there is something disturbing about that agent. I don't think he was really keeping the diaries to deliver to the twins' psychiatrists "

"Do you think he helped them in their escape?" The Detective asked, his colleague nodded. "We need to talk to the  Valeskas’ psychiatrists "

* * *

Harley Q. Eccels was, in some sense and to some extent of the term,  _concerned_ .

She was worried even though she knew Jerome was dangerous, and if what he had told her about Jeremiah was true,  his twin was just as  dangerous as him , if not  _worse_ .

Jerome had told her about what Jeremiah was capable of doing, how  much harm his twin could cause if he wanted to. He had told her in vivid and bloody details of slaughtered animals, slaughtered in the most creative ways he and his twin could think of, he had told her about Curtis Lloyd and what they had done to him, leaving him alive, sure, but never again  the same .

Harley knew the twins were dangerous, yet she couldn't help but be worried, they had been kidnapped from Arkham, they hadn't run away and it scared her.  _Why…?_ _What_ _if they ended up in the hands of some unscrupulous bastard?_ Not that she believed the two would not be able to defend themselves, far be it from her  thinking that , but… Harley thought about the seven men killed in front of the Gotham Gazette, the way the letters on them spelled the word  _MANIAX!_ , that was all…  _So theatrical_ , ‘ _I'd love to_ _work in a_ _Broadway show, you know Harley? Have an audience’_ Jerome had confided this to her a few days before he was kidnapped, and looking back on this the young psychiatrist couldn't help but think that the twins had something to do with what had happened at the Gotham Gazette because of its  theatricality  because something like that would attract attention…  _it would create an audience_ .

And it only made worse that heavy, unpleasant feeling that weighed on her chest.

She couldn't stop thinking that whoever kidnapped them had figured out exactly how to control them.

A sudden sound brought her back to reality, Harley answered the call, listened carefully to her interlocutor and instinctively nodded.

"Of course, Detective," was her answer, to the question put to her.

Once the call was done, Harley sighed.

The phone clutched in one hand, she closed her eyes for a brief moment trying to calm the fear that was gripping her throat.

_ They had arrested Jongleur. _

_The twins were still who knows where, in the hands of who knows who._

_And the police had got their hands on the diaries of the two Valeskas_ .

The young doctor, however, headed to the department anyway, trying to mask her fear and anxiety.

When she reached the district she noticed that her colleague, Dr. Leichman, was also there. The man observed everything around him with those analytical gray eyes of his, not a trace of expression on his face, but not in a disturbing way, no he was…  _apathetic_ .

"Doctor Quinzel," he said, almost as a greeting. Harley did everything in her power not to glare at him but her response was still snappy.

"Eccels" corrected him annoyed "It's Eccels. Doctor Quinzel was my father. " She added then. Her irritation only increased when Leichman gave her one of his devious smiles.

“Oh, right. _Dr. Harrison Quinzel._ ” He commented as if he had just remembered, as if he hadn't voluntarily called Harley, Quinzel because he knew how annoyed that made her. "He was really a good man. I've always wondered why you decided to take your mother's surname…"

Harley stifled the snappy answer that was about to leave her mouth by opting for a no more polite but less vulgar: "None of your business, Patrick"

Before Leichman had time to respond, an agent,  with Gordon’s orders to bring the two doctors to him and Harvey, arrived. If he noticed the tension and hatred between the two doctors he  didn’t show it as he guided them to the office, far enough from the hall –so that any confidential information remained as such and could not leak out otherwise– the two detectives were waiting for them. The agent took his leave and the two psychiatrists entered the office.

Jim Gordon and Harvey Bullock were waiting for them, the first seated, in his hands one of the Valeska twins' diaries, the other standing beside him, his gaze also on the lined page read by his colleague, an expression troubled on her face.

"That's confidential information, Detective Gordon and Detective Bullock" Dr.  Eccels’ steady voice caught the attention of the two detectives.

"They could contain important clues for our case,  Dr. Eccels" replied Gordon, in any case closing the diary and placing it next to the other, before motioning to the two doctors to sit down.

"And I understand that, Detective," Harley conceded taking her seat in the chair, "But you are invading the privacy of my patients."

“Jeremiah is my patient, Harley. Only Jerome has been assigned to you, "Leichman corrected her, after he too had taken his seat.

The two exchanged a glance and Jim had the distinct feeling that the two could not stand each other.

"You must understand, Doctor…" Jim began, interrupting whatever  discussion was about to flourish between the two doctors at the outset "that your patients are the number one suspects in the Gotham Gazette  Massacre , we need to know everything we can about them in order to stop them as soon as possible"

"In the file I wrote about Jerome, there is everything I know about him and I imagine it is the same for my colleague too"

Ignoring the dig to his detriment, Leichman nodded.

"Did those two ever show signs that they were trying to break out of Arkham?" Harvey then asked, his gaze moving between the two doctors.

"No, and I doubt that even if they had planned to break out of Arkham, they would have made it clear," Harley said.

"That's right, detective, Jeremiah and Jerome are very elusive, the result of the unfavorable environment in which they had to grow up, they are able to hide almost everything," added Leichman.

"' _Almost_ '?"

"They are unable to  conceal and /or  act when it concerns the other.  _And they would go to extreme lengths to protect each other._ " the psychiatrist answered.

"What kind of extreme?" Harvey asked.

Leichman was silent for a moment before he replied, “Jeremiah once nearly decapitated one of our other patients with one of the canteen trays. And when, after the month he spent in solitary confinement, I asked the reason for that  extremely violent action, his response was that the man had ' _made one comment too many'_ about his twin . This is the kind of extreme I'm referring to. "

"So let me  know if I get  this right," Harvey began in a tone that was both surprised and incredulous "Not only are they psychotic and violent but also dangerously  _overprotective_ ?"

"Well yeah, that's a good way to summarize their relationship," Harley admitted, her colleague nodded in agreement.

" Fantastic , simply  fantastic ," Harvey commented  in a mutter , even though everyone in the office heard him.

"As hard as it may be to believe, Detective, the twins had better stay together," Harley said and the look Leichman gave her was enough to make it clear that ' _no, he didn't agree with her_ '. "As long as the twins are united they are predictable, both support each other's  delusions , so as long as they are together they are…  _stable_ ."

"This is good news," Detective Gordon said, though he seemed unsure of his own statement. "So may you have any leads  or suggestion we can follow to find them?"

Leichman exchanged glances with Harley, for once they both seemed to be sharing the same emotion about the twins, and it was:  _desolation_ . The psychiatrist turned to the detectives: " _You just have to follow the bodies_ " the man's tone was cold and resigned "Now that they have started…  _it will only be an escalation of violence until they are stopped_ ".

* * *

“Eeny, meeny miny, moe. Who is the one I'm going to shoot now? "

Jeremiah stood just behind his brother, his blank expression contrasting with his twin's maniacal one, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.

Jerome repeated his version of the nursery rhyme once again, moving the pistol, an S&W.38  Lightweight , over each of his hostages as he spoke. His words interrupted by a slight chuckle when the hostage  he was  pointing  at in the last syllable closed his eyes, whimpering in terror.

Theo had given them the green light to have some fun as long as they didn't get caught by the police, of course. So the twins did it, also because however patient they might be, at times,

they were starting to get bored alone in  Galavan’s skyscraper, yes it was big enough and yes they had explored a bit, with Theo's permission.  _But what could they do if it bored them quickly enough?_

While Jerome terrorized their hostages, Jeremiah walked away, walking around the table where the family he and Jerome were holding hostage stood, watching each family member intently.

They all looked so disgustingly…  _normal_ . Jeremiah's gaze fell upon his father –clear  blue  eyes,  raven black hair, a mountain of a man who could have quite easily  stopped them  with his strength alone if it weren't for the threat of the gun– and wondered if he was like  _him_ … well, to be his friend had to share some of his preferences.  He wondered if it was the violence or,  his gaze shifted to  his children, if  he was  of  that  _kind_ .

" No … please don't shoot." pleaded the woman,  _the mother_ , tears streaming from her eyes and her gaze fixed on the barrel of the .38 that Jerome was aiming at her.

“You can take whatever you want. We won't stop you" the man said, his voice more or less firm, Jeremiah's gaze still fixed on him.

Jerome's gaze fell on him too, and he just lowered the gun, chuckling at the ever-present hysterical undertone. " You think we're here to rob you?" A chuckle interrupted his words.

Jeremiah  rolled his eyes at his twin's behavior, he would have preferred  him to be more serious, but apparently he managed to be intimidating even that way, if the terrified looks he was being given meant anything.

Stuffing his giggles Jerome continued: “No, that's not what we're here for, honestly my brother and I could care less about the money than all the low-ranking criminals in this town. No, we are here because you, Lucas Todd, know someone who  _interests us._ " Jerome's smile became even more threatening, the weapon snapped back against its original target. " _Zachary Trumble_ ,  _your dear old_ _pal_ _Zach_ , tell us where he is and I promise we won't do anything to your family, no, okay that's not true. But I promise we won't hurt any of them  _too much._ "

Lucas held Jerome's gaze for a moment before lowering it. "I don't know where he is, we drifted apart _after_ … we drifted apart."

"Um, I don't believe you," Jerome said, even though he had stopped aiming Miss Todd with the gun, only to move the  aim to Lucas, "You and Zach were  _pretty close_ every time the circus stopped in Gotham… I wonder what  will it take you to answer me honestly?" Jerome's gaze shifted to his twin who had resumed moving around the table. "Jeremiah?" he asked, as if asking for a hint.

Jeremiah smiled just as he continued to walk, before stopping beside the smallest –Black hair, big blue eyes shiny and full of tears– he placed both hands on the shoulders of the child, holding back a smile at the exclamations and pleas –' _Please don't hurt him! Jason has nothing to do with this whole story!_ ’– who bloomed at his action and lowered himself to the height of the child.

"Tell me, Jason, who is  that you love most?" he asked  his voice dull and blank of any indicative emotion , a cruel smile curling his lips.

Jason hesitantly met Jeremiah's gaze, and tried not to give in to his fear, he refused to answer.

Jerome shook his head smiling. "Tsk. Tsk. Little Jason, if you don't answer my twin's question, I'll kill them both. _Is that what you want_ ? "

Jason shook his head, whispering a small but weak: ' _No_ '.

"Well, then answer the question"

And so Jason did.

Lucas Todd remained silent even when the gun was pointed at his head.

Jerome looked at him disappointed then laughed. And he fired.  _Twice_ . "I never said I wouldn't do it anyway," he replied laughing at the shocked and terrified look of the child.

When the police arrived, there was no trace of the Valeska twins. And all that was left of the Todd family was a  kid .

Little Jason Todd, alone and desperate, his hands stained with his parents' blood and Jerome's .38 in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually did my math to make all of this somewhat reasonable.  
> Jason is six in this chapter so when he meets Bruce(after he has become Batman) he'll be nineteen.


	14. Chapter XIII: Burnt Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Maniax second act is now, will the police stop them(or manage to lessen their blow) or will they succeed?

Not very surprisingly, the news of the Todd family massacre was on the front page. Not as the  headline but as a second paragraph, however on the front page.

The GCPD had not yet understood that they were behind  it , but it didn't matter. The fact that they had instead accused the sole survivor had brought a cruel smile to the faces of the two Valeskas as they read the newspaper. The .38, with the serial number erased and therefore untraceable, had no recognizable fingerprints apart from those  of Jason himself.

Continuing to read, they learned that the boy had escaped from police custody and that  they had lost his trail . The news  caused a sarcastic ' _good for him_ ' from Jerome and a half-smile  from Jeremiah.

"I imagine from your satisfied expressions that you are responsible for the _terrible event_ that struck that poor Gothamite family," Theo's comment brought the attention of the twins back to the present.

The Galavan had just stepped into the penthouse, an edition of the Gotham Gazette in hand, he seemed pleased with it as… well, as no one,  _entirely sane_ , should have been in the knowledge that two of the people he was 'hosting' in his home had killed a family in cold blood for no apparent reason.

"And indeed you are right, Theo." Jerome confirmed, even though at that exact moment he wasn't smiling, his voice seemed to be doing it.

Theo smiled, then said sardonically: "It is a real shame that Gotham will not have time to recover from this terrible event before being  struck by  _another tragedy._ "

The man watched how those words made the twins' eyes shine, who appeared ready and eager to get back to work. Like precious little lead soldiers drunk with chaos. If there was one thing Theo understood about twins it was that it wasn't so much the action of killing that made them so eager to commit murder, or, more recently, a massacre, no, it was  _violence_ that drew them like moths and the chaos, that jolt of adrenaline, having the power to decree the life, death and suffering of someone to make them so  _dependent_. They were kids who killed with the same sadistic happiness  of a child tearing the wings of a butterfly. Two little monsters who would have happily ripped off a dragonfly's wings before throwing it into an anthill, just to watch the helpless creature being dismembered.  _Laughing_.

"The time has come for the second act, the  _rising action_ of our show," Theo began, letting his gaze move away from the twins for a moment, moving on each of those present. "I want you to  requisition a  gasoline truck from the Yellen shipyard and then-" an almost invisible smile curled his lips, while his gaze moved back to the two Valeskas "- you just have to  _choose_."

"To choose?  What ?" Jeremiah asked curiously, his attention focused only on Galavan, as was that of his twin, the newspaper in their hands completely forgotten.

"An objective." Theo answered "I trust that you will choose well, but make sure that… it is deserving of a headline."

The twins nodded, their smiles widened just threateningly, for a moment Theo thought he saw a light in their eyes, like a fire that blazed and grew more and  _more_ , as if they were already imagining their next act. The two exchanged glances, before turning back to him.

"Just one question: How grand can our  objective be?" Jerome asked, as his twin closed and folded the newspaper they had read until before his arrival with quick, careful and precise movements.

Theo was silent for a few moments, but not to make the two feel uncomfortable, or to make them believe their question was a useless, but because he was really thinking about the answer. "Something that has never been done before," he replied then, then a smirk curled his lips. "But don't go too big for our second act, or the climax will be…  _disappointing_."

The twins nodded once again, slightly out of synchrony, with Jeremiah starting the movement just a moment before his brother.

_Uh, weird. Until now the two had always moved in perfect synchrony_ , Theo decided to ignore that little detail, not considering it so important.

After telling them to go to the 'armory' as soon as possible, Theo left the Maniax  to their breakfast, but not after telling two of his men to keep an eye on the group –after all while the twins were able to maintain some control, when they wanted, the same couldn't be said for others– without getting noticed, of course, he wouldn't let something like his caution, however reasonable, could ruin the 'trust' he had created with his 'team'.

* * *

Stealing, or as Theo said, requisitioning the  gasoline truck from the Yellen shipyard had been easier than the twins had expected. It was almost  _boring_ to be honest, being able to steal something that big without anyone noticing.

_Without being able to make a scene_. It also really raised a couple of questions about how the citizens of a dangerous city like Gotham could possibly be so careless.

Jerome sighed, bored, as he took his place in the cab of the truck, Jeremiah next to him and Aaron at the wheel. Greenwood and Dobs were on the access platforms on either side of the cabin, holding with one hand on the supports while the other held a sawed-off shotgun.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go!" Jerome exclaimed, nodding quickly towards the road, Aaron started the  gasoline truck and the five Maniax left the yard.

Lurking a few blocks away under a bridge, exchanging ideas on what could be the best target.

Dobs kept suggesting that they set fire to some of the nearby apartments, which although an interesting idea was soon discarded by the twins. Because although they loved the idea of causing some  good destruction, well, it wasn't original and Theo had told them to be original.

Greenwood had suggested setting fire to either a Nightclub or a Lounge, but just like Dobs’s idea, the twins had rejected that too. It was too early for anyone to be in one of Greenwood's suggested locations, so it was a ‘ _no_ ’.

Aaron had suggested a simple massacre, to go to a place with many people and set them on fire with  gasoline in the  truck. The twins had almost supported that idea, curious to see the Gothamites running in fright while others burned before their eyes, but… then Theo's voice and his ' _don't go too big or the climax will be disappointing_ ' had returned to the their memory therefore they had also put aside that idea.

While they waited, and thought, Jerome made himself more comfortable, lifting his legs to rest them on the dashboard, while Jeremiah played with his lighter, running it through his fingers like a magician would do with a coin, and every now and then he opened it  and light up the flame for a moment before closing it.

Jeremiah closed the lighter with a click once again as he looked up from his hands to the road ahead.

The twins watched for a few more moments as the other Maniax, specifically Greenwood, began to lose their cool, not understanding why they were still waiting instead of doing something,  _anything_.

And then, they saw  _it_.

"I  spy with my little eyes," Jerome began,  his hands posed as a makeshift pair of binoculars, a slightly disturbing smile that began to curl his lips "something of color…"

" _Yellow_." completed Jeremiah, who had placed the lighter in a pocket of his pants, a smile similar to that of his twin,  bent his lips.

The yellow bus passed in front of the  gasoline truck, none of the cheering, cheerful teenagers inside noticed anything as it happened, trying to rhyme their cheering for the whatever-sport-team they were going to encourage, from the  truck the Maniax heard only a vague: ' _Score, Gotham, Score!_ '.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's  bring  this show  on the road! " Jerome exclaimed, as he pulled his legs off the dashboard, pointing at the bus with a slightly exaggerated gesture, Jeremiah  rolled his eyes at the action but his smile just widened. Dobs and Greenwood jumped onto the  platforms, while the latter exclaimed: "Yay, Gotham!"  banging a hand  against the  truck’s door.

The Maniax followed the bus for a while trying to figure out what their route was, the twins weren't very helpful in this as they didn't know Gotham that well, having been in the city for a few months at most, seeing that most of those months  they had spent in Arkham.

Greenwood was, of the five, the one who managed to understand what path they were following, suggesting where to go in order to cut their way.

The bus braked with a screech when the  gasoline truck stopped in front of its path, but none of the five cared that much. Greenwood and Dobs were the first to get out of the  truck, followed by Aaron, the twins were the last, with Dobs opening the door for them almost as if they were celebrities leaving the limo.

Jerome chuckled at the comparison his mind had made, Jeremiah glanced at him, and the redhead only needed a nod for Jeremiah to understand, then joined in his giggle.

The twins approached the bus, Jerome almost trotting while Jeremiah walking briskly, while Greenwood and Aaron pulled the  truck’s hose preparing it for use.

Arrived in front of the retractable door of the bus, and after a pirouette, Jerome knocked with the butt of his revolver against the glass. The action caused a certain cry of alarm from the cheerleaders inside the vehicle, which simply made Jerome's smile widen making it more menacing, his eyes almost seeming to sparkle with the manic energy that was hidden inside.

Jeremiah, behind him, seemed much more serious and cold, with his arms crossed, casting a glance icy  enough that it could freeze the very fire of hell at the bus driver, who  shivering and hesitant opened the retractable door.

The twins got on the bus, Jerome first and immediately after Jeremiah, who already irritated by the driver's pitiful  appearance shot him in the head with his colt, a sudden and involuntary chuckle that left his mouth when he saw the damage caused, immediately  he stifled it while Jerome gave him a curious and amused together look, Jeremiah pretended not to notice  it,  before stating to threaten the cheerleaders  with his colt, making them  sit down, his twin handcuffing them.

"I want you to know  that  it was a really difficult decision for us." Jeremiah began serious almost solemn, once Jerome finished handcuffing them, his voice higher than all those frightened  whimpers that were leaving the lips of their victims.

Jerome just shook his head,  rolling his eyes to the excessive seriousness of his twin, as he joined the act he had evidently begun. “Yes, it really was. It was between you and  a senior citizen bingo party. " he said with a smile, pointing the revolver at a cheerleader near which he was passing, the girl whimpered and retreated making the chain of  the handcuffs rattle, Jerome stifled an amused chuckle at the gesture, but kept walking  towards the front of the 'bus following Jeremiah. "In the end, we decided to  shew a little younger." 

"And Youth  won the day …  _Sorry_ ." Jeremiah completed, his apology seemed almost sincere down to the slightest inflection of his tone, but the illusion was easily broken by the seraphic smile on his lips.

Greenwood began to approach with the hose in hand, Jerome addressed the cheerleaders once more: "Give us an O!"  he exclaimed, the cheerleaders simply whimpered in response, the smile left Jerome's face.

Jeremiah fired a shot at the roof of the bus. "My brother said:  _Give us an O_ ," he said, completely serious, his voice just a little lower in pitch than normal, Jerome felt a shiver run down his spine at hearing that almost growl so close to his ear.

The cheerleaders then did as ordered, their choir trembling and frightened as they pronounced the letter.

A new smile curled Jerome's lips. "Give us an N," he added, and this time he didn't have to wait long before he heard the trembling choir.

"Give us another O," Jeremiah said as he stepped aside, approaching the dead driver to let Greenwood carry the hose into the bus.

"What  does that spell?" Jerome asked " _Oh, no_!" he exclaimed, gleefully where the cheerleaders were terrified, as he took the hose from Greenwood's hands. Opening the nozzle,  spraying the cheerleaders with  gasoline, the smell of fuel so strong that it almost  made him dizzy.

Or maybe it was his laugh as he did it that was making his head spin, one or the other.

Turning his head slightly, as he walked along the bus, spraying  gasoline on the cheerleaders and on the bus, he noticed Jeremiah looking at him, amused, even though his eyes continued to move towards the hose.

Jerome closed the  nozzle for a moment. "Do you want to try, 'Miah?"

Jeremiah nodded quickly, moving almost too fast on the slippery metal, eager  as he was to try his hand. Jerome chuckled as he handed the hose to Jeremiah. The twins swapped places, and if Jeremiah was more methodical than his brother, making sure the  gasoline ended up everywhere it was clear that he was enjoying it too, that obsessively maniacal light back in his eyes.

Jeremiah paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on one of the cheerleaders, a brunette, a cruel, almost vengeful smile  on his lips as he  aimed the hose directly at her, causing her to gasp and  flail under the jet of  gasoline.

For a moment, Jerome  didn’t understand the reason for that vindictive expression on his twin's face, before noting the incredible resemblance of that girl to their ‘ _mommy dearest_ '.

Jerome opened his mouth, as if to tell his brother to take off  her handcuffs so they could pull her out of the bus to set her on fire themselves, but closed it without saying a word. Jeremiah seemed satisfied enough with simply drowning her  with gasoline and Jerome had no objection  in watching him do it.  In fact quite the opposite,  a slight heat was coiling in the pit of his stomach in seeing Jeremiah so clearly enjoying himself.

After a few moments Jeremiah closed the nozzle, and went down the aisle that was drenched in gasoline, throwing the hose off the bus with a metallic ' _clank_ ', the cheerleaders still whimpering.

Jeremiah got out of the vehicle and Jerome followed him but not before turning to their victims and saying, "Oh, come on, don't cry you're  gonna be  _flameous_ !"

"Ready?" Jeremiah asked, perfectly mimicking the tone of a  head  cheerleader once his brother was at his side. Dobs watched them smiling and clapping with one hand against the barrel side of his  shotgun , Greenwood and Aaron just smiled  the previous much more sinister than the latter .

"Okay!" Jerome exclaimed taking his lighter, the  whimpers from the bus became real screams of terror.

At that moment police cars came with blaring sirens, Jerome gave up trying to set fire to the bus, while aiming the revolver at the newly arrived policemen.

“Hold your ground, boys. They can't shoot the bus. " he said, the other three and Jeremiah nodded.

"Oh, look who's there!" Jeremiah suddenly exclaimed, as he fired at one of the policemen, the shot accurate enough to kill him in one shot, while Jim Gordon's voice urged the policemen  to ‘hold their fire’.

Jerome’s eyes widened slightly in hearing that voice . "Oh,  _Jimbo_ , I didn't think we'd see each other so soon!" he said in turn, firing twice in the Detective's vague direction. Not aiming to kill him, just to scare him a little.

"Aaron! Greenwood, start the  truck! " Jeremiah said as he  shot two other cops, though his gaze was mostly focused on the Detective who had taken cover behind a car.

Curiously, the man  wasn’t trying to shoot at them as his colleagues had no qualms about doing.

"Lower your guns!" Gordon came out of his cover, the gun pointed at Jerome. “You are surrounded and we are more than you. Come on,  boys, I know you're smart, you  know you  can't do it. Lower your guns. "

It was at that moment that, despite the anger of seeing someone point a weapon at his twin, Jeremiah noticed that in the Detective's eyes there was that same sense of guilt that he had seen when he practically sentenced them to Arkham.

An idea, like a  lighting,  flashed into his mind. He stopped firing and lowered the gun, Jerome gave him a confused look, but Jeremiah signaled him to ' _trust him_ ', which obviously Jerome did.

An imperceptible, almost too quick, half smile curled Jim Gordon's lips, who in turn lowered his weapon, urging his agents to ' hold their fire ' once more. "I knew  you’d chose right."  he said.

And Jeremiah had to hold back a chuckle at that. Because it was really, really funny, in an almost ironic, almost bitter sense, that the man who had sent them to an asylum was so sure he could reason with them.

"Really, Detective…" Jeremiah began, a smile that perfectly mirrored the one on his twin's lips  curled his own, breaking the illusion of recalcitrance he had so skillfully, as quickly, created.

"After the first time, one would expect it would be harder to fool you!" Jerome exclaimed, firing a shot, aimed over the detective's shoulder, Gordon dropped to the ground convinced that the Valeska had aimed at his head.

"Let's blow this barbeque, what do you think?" Jeremiah asked, opening his  Zippo and  lighting it up with a single gesture, pressing the plastic button enough to lock it in place for a while. And while his brother ran towards the  truck with a laugh, Jeremiah threw the lighter inside the bus, before joining his brother.

Dobs behind them, as the bus caught fire, the flames broke out quickly, stirred up by the  gasline and  fuel vapor that filled the vehicle.

The twins laughed in a chorus of identical voices, clinging to the supports on the sides of the  truck, Jerome continuing to pour  gasoline  onto the burning bus, from which a chorus of harrowing screams began to rise.

The fire crackling and roaring, Jeremiah's gaze completely captured by the dancing of the flames, while a laugh he didn't even recognize as his own left his lips.

The bus exploded shortly after, without anyone being able to save the cheerleaders.

The two Valeskas didn't realize that Dobkins had never rejoined the rest of the 'team' until Theo pointed this out to them.

* * *

Jim was sure he would never forget the way the two Valeskas laughed, psychotic and insane. The way the sound of their laughter had mingled with that of screams and  the crackling of the  fire.

Jim had tried to save them,  the cheerleaders , but it was too late.  _He was too late_ . When he got to his feet, the bus was already engulfed in flames and the only thing he could do was find a cover behind a car just before it exploded, in a hellish roar that had put out all the screams, metal, fabric and burnt  flesh scattered on the asphalt like macabre confetti.

One of the criminals, or Maniax as the media had begun to call them, had been caught in the blast after being abandoned by his comrades. By the time Jim reached him,  Arnold Dobkins was already dead, perhaps from the shock-wave of the explosion, perhaps from the flames that had burned half his body, whatever the reason, the Maniax was dead and so they hadn't way to discover the next step of the Valeska twins and their team of inmates.

So Gordon had nothing, nothing that could help him understand what they were going to do, nothing but the guilt for not being able to save  those poor teenagers that the twins’ had chosen as their victims, and that for causing it all.

He had sent the Valeskas to Arkham, if he hadn't done it maybe all this wouldn't have happened, he had fallen into their deceptions again.

He had lowered his gun as soon as he saw Jeremiah Valeska's contrite gaze, as if the boy was being forced to do what they were doing, he had let himself be fooled again by the mask of innocence that those two managed to remove and put on  easily as the wind changed direction, always as realistic as the first time.

All of this was his fault, the blood of each of their victims was on his hands. And Jim was sure he would never be able to wash it off.

* * *

When they returned to  Galavan’s skyscraper, Theo had congratulated them,  well he had congratulated the whole 'team' but his gaze hadn't left the twins even once, so the two Valeskas had decided to take his words as personal.

After all, it was they who decided the  objective, and they were the ones who made sure everything ran smoothly. Jeremiah had been the one who set the bus on fire, the other  Maniax had been just  there not moving a finger if the twins hadn’t told them to, so Theo had to be congratulating them even if he pretended to be congratulating all the Maniax.

"Where is Dobkins?"

Theo's question took them by surprise, both because it was sudden and because…  _they didn't notice they were short of one_.

Jerome involuntarily looked around for less than half an instant. "Uh, he must have stayed behind." he answered

"He must have been  caught up by the explosion.  He was too slow. " Jeremiah added, shrugging nonchalantly. As nice as Dobs had been, he didn't really care about  his whereabouts. And in any case, he was too far out of reality for even if he was taken into police custody, the latter could get anything out of him.

Theo made a small nod. "It be better if he was" he said, no particular inflection in his tone. "After all, we can't let something so small, a  _mistake_ like this, wreak havoc on our plan, right?"

And the way he had said the word ' _mistake_ ' as he looked at them made the twins understand that for Theo this was more important than what he was  showing . They hadn't let him down, not that, but…  _they had been close to doing it_ .

_All because Dobkins was too slow_.

Jerome promised himself that if the schizophrenic were still alive, he would shoot him in the forehead just for this, at the first viable opportunity.

“In any case, even if we're short of one, it doesn't matter. We will continue with our plan, stopping after a presentation like this would be silly, don't you think? " Theo paused for a moment, the twins nodded just barely, a slight downwards movement of their heads rather than a real nod. "Well, but before our third act, we will have to lay low for a while."

Jeremiah cocked his head to the side, in a gesture Theo had seen his twin make many times to indicate his confusion.

“To create suspense, boys. The citizens of Gotham will expect your action, and they will wait, and they will wait. Fear and anxiety will take hold of them, their guard will be high but if we wait long enough it will begin to drop again. "

"Oh, you want us to lull them into a false sense of security."

A smirk curled Theo's lips at Jerome's words. "Exactly, so they'll be even more  shocked when we make our move."

The twins exchanged glances, their smiles grew, two pairs of identical eyes sparkling anticipation,  the answer to Theo’s words were two identical laughs.


	15. Chapter XIV: Lay low days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a few days of calm, the Twins start to get bored, luckily for them Tabitha’s offer is still valid. Meanwhile Jimbo has a possible lead on the Twins’ whereabouts, but will it actually _lead_ him somewhere?

Barely two days had passed since they had set that bus on fire, and the Valeska twins were  _bored_ ,  _terribly bored_ .

And it was  _strange_ that they felt so bored after such a short time.

At the circus, between one and another  of their stunts they usually spent weeks if not months  waiting for the next moment to put up a  _show_ , whatever it was and whatever it would have caused, and in those moments of quiescence they didn't even have much to do. If not wandering around the circus, which they had started doing after their thirteenth birthday, or leaving it to visit whatever city they stopped in that month, they had started doing this even before  they were thirteen … Lila had never been the most attentive of mothers, in addition to being a  _violent bitch_ , so she had never noticed how from an early age they slipped away from the circus, usually not only to pass the time but also to avoid being entrusted with some work.

But now, after only two days of calm and quiet, the two were  _bored_.

"I think  that the fact that we stopped trying to stifle our  urges,  instead enabling them, is what we have to blame for… this  _boredom_." Jeremiah said, holding back another bored  huff as he stroked  his twin’s hair, who was lying next to him with his head resting on his chest, as always.

Jerome liked to listen to his heartbeat, he had always liked it, just as Jeremiah liked to stroke his hair while he spoke, it relaxed him.

" You think, 'Miah?" Jerome asked, softly as if he didn't want to disturb the tranquility of that moment no matter how static he found it.

Jeremiah made only a faint little  hum of  agreement, continuing to stroke his hair, his gaze fixed on the high dark ceiling, following with his eyes the  criss-cross of  the  decorative reliefs that seemed to form a  web, a  _net_?, Jeremiah was almost sure that  it had a specific name but couldn't remember the term… it had been so long since he'd read that book.

"’ Miah? "

Jeremiah looked down from the ceiling at Jerome. "Yes, Jer?"

"What were you thinking about?"

" _Surprisingly_? Nothing. "

Jerome chuckled softly at his answer, so softly that Jeremiah almost didn't hear it, but even if he hadn't heard it, he would have perfectly  felt the slight vibration of that sound, right above his heart. “You  thinking about nothing? Uh! This is  _strange_. " his twin said, his voice light and still vivid with that sweet little  chuckle.

Jeremiah smiled, just barely, a slight rise in the corners of his mouth. "It really is." he agreed.

A new silence, lighter than the previous one, descended between them, remaining uninterrupted for a long, long moment while the twins apparently forgetting their boredom, basked in each other's presence, as they had always done.

_As they always would_.

_ After all, what could ever have been one of them without the other? _

He and Jerome were like two pieces of a puzzle, but they only fit together and were incompatible with the rest of the puzzle.

He and Jerome were like a fuse and a detonator, you needed to have them both for things to work, if you had only one or the other it would have been impossible to cause the explosion.

And if recently Jeremiah hadn't exactly agreed with how much  trust Jerome was giving to their ' _savior_ ', that didn't mean that little private disagreement, which he would never share Jerome with (unless it was necessary), would have disturbed their balance.

Actually it wasn't even the level of trust Jerome was showing Theo that disturbed him, it was just that…  _Jeremiah was jealous_. He had always been jealous.

And Jerome was his twin. His brother,  _his other half_.

Jerome was  his.  _His_.

_And_ _only his_.

And seeing Theo constantly try to put a hand on Jerome's shoulder, when he thought they didn't notice, or when he brushed his hands when he passed something, was getting on his nerves.

Jerome was his, and Theo, as much as he had saved them and as much as he understood them, had no right to touch him.

"Ow, 'Miah,  stop  _that_ !"; Jerome's exclamation brought him back to reality, pulling him out of the spiral of violent, bitter jealousy into which he had involuntarily slipped. Apparently, during his reflection he had stopped stroking  his twin’s hair and instead had tightened  his hand on it , pulling it  if only just.

"Sorry, Jer, I didn't mean to do that." he murmured, as a sincere excuse, resuming stroking his hair.

"Don't apologize, 'Miah, there is no need to. It… _wasn't that bad_ , actually." Jerome said in response, looking almost surprised if not by his words by his reaction to that grip. "In fact, _it wasn't bad at all…_ sure, it hurt a little, and it took me by surprise, but… _it wasn't that bad._ " he repeated, a slight shrewd smile began to curl his lips, while he slightly tilted his head upwards, since from the position in which he was he had to do it if he wanted to meet his twin's gaze. "I think I've discovered another thing _I_ _like_ , 'Miah."

"Oh?" a smile very similar to that of the twin,  bent his lips.

"I think I  know what we can do to pass some time." Jerome whispered as Jeremiah let his hand slip  from his hair that was all the permission he needed to move on, straddling him, his hands resting on the sides of his head.

Jeremiah's smile widened just a little and brought a hand to  cup  Jerome's face, who leaned  in his touch without any hesitation. “We're not in Arkham, Jer. You'll have to be quieter here." he said with clear intent to tease him, tempt him a little. Jerome liked it when he did that, and to be honest he liked it too,  _it made things more interesting_.

"Oh?  _I_ should be quieter, 'Miah? " Jerome asked in that same tone, his emerald eyes darker  of a shade from the usual green  fixed on  his that Jeremiah knew to be identical, Jerome's smirk  got a bit more sharp, almost mocking, almost threatening, Jeremiah had to keep himself from shuddering at that. “You are the more vocal of us. If anything,  _I_ should be the one to tell  _you_ to ' _be quieter_ '. "

“Me, Jer? Really?" Jeremiah asked, with a mock surprise in his tone, as he let his hand slip from Jerome's face to his shoulder.

"Mhm mhm. All I need is a kiss, a few touches and you'll _melt_ _for me_." drawled Jerome sure, cocky, as he lowered himself, until he uttered those last three words in a hot breath directly against his lips.

"Oh?  _Really_?" he asked, after a moment to keep his voice steady as if his twin's proximity had no effect on him, when… well  _they both_ knew it wasn't true. " _Prove it to me_."

* * *

Jim and the rest of the GCPD were working tirelessly to find out where the Valeskas and their Maniax were, but so far they had found nothing.

It was as if after each attack they disappeared without a trace, Jongleur, the guard of the twins, still refused to speak, continuing to repeat like a broken record that ' _he had nothing to do with their escape and that he_ _wasn’t_ _their accomplice_ ’ .

Jim didn't  _believe_ him.

There was something  off-putting about Jongleur Palmer, something that although Jim couldn't understand exactly what it was, reminded him of the Valeska twins. That slight sense of discomfort, like a dark premonition, as if…

It was as if the guard were wearing a  _mask_ , only  that  unlike the Valeska's it was neither perfect nor realistic.

But then, Jim was pretty sure no one could wear a mask of normalcy and innocence as well as these two, so realistic that, even knowing the truth, Jim couldn't help but believe them when he saw it.

_The sound of their laughter, the crackling of the fire and the screams, excruciatingly terrified_ , returned to his mind.

_ It was all his fault. _

"Jim?"

Gordon looked up from the glittered cover of Jerome Valeska's diary –he'd read that damn thing so many times in the last few days that he could almost recall every page by heart, every sentence in his mind, every single word spoken by Jerome Valeska's voice,  as if that psychotic kid lived in his  head ( _and wasn't that a terrifying thought?_ _But surely madness wasn’t contagious, right?_ ) - Harvey was giving him a confused and,  definitely , worried look.

Jim realized he hadn't even  acknowledged his presence, so he nodded.

Harvey watched him for a few more moments, his gaze alternating from the diary on his desk to him, and Jim could clearly see the ' _maybe you shouldn't read that diary so much'_ hidden in his worried gaze.

"Maybe we've found something that could help us figure out where those madmen are."  He said.

"What?" Jim asked, really hoping that whatever it was could help them, that they wouldn't have to wait for yet another crime and hope to be able to catch them in the act.

Harvey put a yellow folder on his desk. "Apparently the father of the twins,  the fortune-teller, left the circus after their arrest." he said as Jim took the folder. "And, guess what, he decided to move on a permanent basis…  _here in Gotham_."

Jim nodded so Harvey knew he had heard him as he read what was written in the report. "From what I see here he moved a few weeks before the  prison break."

Harvey nodded. "Do you think what I think, Jim?"

Jim met his partner's gaze and nodded, "We need to go talk to Paul Cicero."

* * *

"I told you, 'Miah." Jerome  quipped, the smile clear in his voice, letting himself fall to his side of the bed as Jeremiah pushed him, softly without any real strenght behind the gesture, laughing  still breathless.

Jeremiah turned, on  his side, towards him,  his arms around him in an approximation of a hug, a small smile folding his lips, red from their kisses and  his bites –‘ _Miah liked it and Jerome liked the sounds that left his mouth when he did_ –.

Jeremiah was always _like this_ afterwards,  when the bliss of his orgasm was still high in his bloodstream and his usually very active mind was muddled up in a haze. Twice as affectionate as normal and, almost, clingy, not that Jerome minded on the contrary, he loved how close Jeremiah was, as if he wanted them to stay as close as possible, as if he wanted to try to melt into him, reunite their soul that had been divided between their bodies.

Jerome honestly couldn't wait for them to get to the  _next step_ , because as much as he enjoyed touching Jeremiah, kissing him,  _tasting_ him and receiving the same in return, he wanted  _more_.

_And he knew Jeremiah wanted the same_.

But their current situation wasn't ideal, they couldn’t do it, not while they had no idea what their future would be other than being known as Gotham's cruelest criminals, it wasn't what Jerome would have wanted for their life, but an audience was  an  audience and he and Jeremiah were born to be on stage whatever this stage was, and whatever their show was.

And honestly Jerome wanted their first time not to be a quickie, as they tried to stay silent, caused by boredom.

He wanted it to be  _important_.

"Jer?"

"Yes, 'Miah?" Jerome asked, his voice soft and sweet as it was rarely, too rarely, as he slipped away from the flow of his thoughts, focusing only on his little brother,  _his_ Jeremiah.

“You are my _everything_ , Jer. Do you know that? " Jeremiah asked him, his voice distant and a little sleepy, it brought a smile to Jerome's face, Jeremiah was so soft sometimes. It was amazing how his brother could be both the cruelest, coldest person Jerome knew and also the softest and cutest.

"I know, 'Miah. And you're  mine."

Jeremiah smiled, holding closer to him,  looking at him through half-lidded eyes. "If I could I would give you my heart, I would serve it to you on a silver plate. But I  cannot, not if I want to live. This doesn't mean that I can't give you a heart… yes, a heart for my  _sweetheart_ … I'll give  one to you, I don't know when but… _I'll do it_. " Jeremiah said, his words becoming slightly more spaced out, his vowels more elongated as, as much as he tried to avoid it, he surrendered to sleep.

Jerome smiled faintly, that soft smile that only Jeremiah was aware of. With a movement, careful not to wake Jeremiah  up, he covered them both with the sheet and looking at him, Jerome too ended up falling asleep.

When the twins woke up, Jeremiah was  his normal self again, affectionate but not too clingy and well… the two were  _bored_ again.

"’ Miah? Do you remember what Tabitha said? " Jerome asked, as he finished dressing, after taking a quick shower, Jeremiah was doing the same, –they had showered together, one: because they could and two: because saving hot water was too ingrained in them and so they had it done, out of habit.

"Oh? You mean her invitation to _join_ _her_ _and_ _play_ with her and Barbara? "

Jerome nodded. "Do you think it's still valid?"

"I don't know, we can try though."

Apparently yes, the invitation was still valid and the  Tigress was impressed by their pro-efficiency in torturing the innocent, as well as their genuine interest in learning more.

And Tabitha, like the twins, was bored enough to accept their proposal to teach them more. After all,  she already knew that Theo's plan was to sacrifice them, kill them  and taking them by surprise  while he did that,  _so what harm was there if_ _she_ _taught them something? It's not like they could use it in the future._

* * *

Even before reaching the apartment registered in the name of Paul Cicero, the two detectives, Jim and Harvey, were greeted by a  sickeningly sweet, yet lurid stench, like rotten fruit mixed with something indefinably vile, bitter and much too organic, so  strong that they both had to stop, holding back gagging.

Covering their noses and mouths, as best they could, the two detectives continued walking towards the apartment, the nauseating stench that grew stronger and stronger together with an insistent hum,  _like flies?_

As soon as they opened the door the  stench only became stronger.

And once inside it was not difficult to find the source.

Two corpses were in the apartment, both in the  bloating stage of decomposition if the smell and swelling of the bodies indicated anything, one of them was smaller, on the ground,  its head bent in an unnatural angle, a blackish halo of bodily fluids and dried blood surrounded  it, soaking the carpeted floor,  maggots crawled on the floor and in and out of its liquefying flesh. It seemed to have its eyes missing, or maybe they had already been devoured by the insects, the empty sockets a crawling mess of pulsating white covered in blood and secretions, one hand was missing some of its fingers that were on the kitchen table. The second… was Paul Cicero, it was not difficult to recognize the man even in the state in which his body was,  livid and the waxy skin beginning to turn green. A kitchen knife stuck in one eye, which now swarmed with  maggots as well as the other, flies buzzing all around.  Mouth and nose leaking with that same blackish substance that covered the ground around him.

Jim noticed  a sliver of blue paper, hidden under one of the cushions of the sofa behind Mr. Cicero’s tied corpse. But he didn’t move to try and see what it was, his mind reeling back at the idea of going anywhere near that maggots-covered body.

Jim and Harvey withdrew, informing  the  forensics’  squad.

The two detectives remained close, but not too close, at the entrance to the apartment, waiting for their colleagues to show up.

"It looks like the twins found him before we did." Harvey murmured once they were far enough away to be able to breathe air that didn’t smell of putrefaction, that sickening stench still stuck in the nostrils, polluting the air smoky but definitely much fresher than what they had smelled in the apartment.

Jim nodded solemnly. "Let's hope forensics find something useful in there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter is a tad shorter from the others(I think it is at least) but one of my contractors decided to pull an exemplar dick move and move a deadline from 15th of January to the First(giving me basically just two days to work on a whole project, which is dangerous but since when have the ' _big boys with the big moneys_ ' cared about the opinion of the people that actually know what they are doing? Never that's when), so I didn't have as many time as I would have liked to write this.


	16. Chapter XV: The only good Cop is a Dead Cop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few weeks have passed since the Maniax’ second Act, and the Third is now ready. And the Twins meet again with their favorite guard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for posting this late of 40 minutes but I was having some problems with Ao3.

Thanks to Tabitha's 'lessons', the weeks they had spent  lying low without being able to do anything had passed quickly enough. And they had also confirmed Jeremiah's idea that their boredom was due to the fact that they were no longer used to keeping their  urges in check, as time seemed to pass faster for them  when they tortured the mayor under Tabitha's careful, and sometimes impressed gaze,  and slower when they didn’t .

In addition to how to actually torture someone,  Tabitha had also given them some tips on how to fight more effectively, instead of doing as they had done up to now, which  was by mixing what they had learned from show-staging ' mock fights' at the circus with what they had  had to learn to protect themselves when they walked the streets at night.

And although Theo clearly disapproved, for some reason, of the 'lessons' his sister was giving them, he hadn't really stopped them from following them. Making only half a disapproval  nod  when he saw them start, but then staying for the entire duration of the 'lesson' watching them intensely, sometimes…  _almost too intensely_ .

To such an extent that even Jerome had begun to notice it. Perhaps, Theo really was like the Mister Millionaire of Starling City, even if he was the twins didn't care, as long as he was content with just _watching_. Because, even if he had saved them from Arkham, they wouldn't let him do _more_ than that.

* * *

When Theo joined his 'team' for breakfast that morning, Barbara had already left, accompanied by Aaron, with a smile and a ' _finally I have something to do too_ ' that immediately made the twins realize that things they were starting to move, that they could stop hiding and attack again.

The notion had brought an identical smile to their lips.

With a smirk on his lips, Theo had shown them the latest issue of the Gotham Gazette, on which front page was the  headline ' _The GCPD_ _still hasn’t a trail_ _. Where are the MANIAX?_ ', It was surprising that the Front Page was  theirs because they hadn't done anything.

The twins looked from the Gazette to the Galavan.

"The time has come,  boys. The  _climax_ of our show. " Theo had met their gazes and his smile had become darker and sharper, almost dangerous, a cold and menacing darkness, for the first time, evident in his gaze. Never had Theo seemed like  _one of them_ more than in that moment.

"And what will we do?" Greenwood asked, clearly oblivious to the moment he was interrupting, Jerome had to refrain from snapping at the cannibal, for causing Theo to look away, hiding his darkness again behind that ever-present sardonic mask.

“Well, guys. _We will attack the GCPD._ "

* * *

Jongleur Palmer was in the Gotham Police Department when the Valeskas, Greenwood and their help arrived. He was there because, they finally decided to release him after keeping him in custody, for  far  too long in his humble opinion, given the total lack of evidence they had  of his involvement in anything that regarded the twins.

And the guard,  well now  former Arkham guard, knew something was about to happen the moment he saw the six enter. Because there was something strange about the way they moved, they didn't have that stiff bearing that Jongleur recognized in policemen.

And  even if they had, he would recognize those green eyes, dead, so dead yet bright, madness and lucidity mixed in an unstable and explosive mixture. That same mixture that had attracted him from the first moment he saw them, in Arkham, when the twins had stopped pretending to be complacent and attacked him and his colleagues.

That same mixture that made them shine even now while the twins quietly advanced inside the hall, leaving their accomplices at the entrance. No one but Jongleur seemed to have noticed who they really were.

“I need to talk to Commissioner Essen right away. It’s an emergency." said one of the twins, his hat tilted in a way that made it difficult to see his face, his voice lower of a pitch from usual and spoken with an odd cadence.

A barely perceptible smile stretched the ex-guard's lips as he walked away from the cluster of desks near the center of the hall, after taking his personal belongings that had been requisitioned.

The Valeska who had spoken entered the Commissioner's office, while the other remained in front of the door, his gaze always watchful that discreetly took note of how many policemen there were in the room and where they were.

At that moment, in the distance, their eyes met. And his smile widened as  the  Valeska gave him a quick wink and, pretending to adjust his hat, motioned him to move away.

At that same moment another of his accomplices dressed as a policeman rolled a smoke bomb on the marble floor, a ' _clink_ ' followed by a hiss, and the smoke thick as  fog began to fill the air, Jongleur moved like the Valeska he had motioned him to do, and thanks to that he avoided a  blind shot from a  shotgun by one of the real cops in the hall.

With a gesture, aided by the smoke and disorientation of the policeman, Jongleur snatched the  shotgun from his hand, stunning him with a  hit of the butt of the same, before shooting him once the policeman had fallen.

Pure and simple Chaos enveloped the department after that, with the Maniax shooting at the cops, and Jongleur trying to avoid getting accidentally hit by the Maniax as he helped them.

At a certain point he found himself using the  shotgun as a blunt weapon since he had run out of shots, but  it wasn’t so much an impediment as he had thought, indeed making it more personal  and as such, made the rush he got from every kill even stronger. For the first time since he had started following the Valeskas, because  he was  fascinated by their…  _being_ , Jongleur Palmer understood why the twins were the way they were. If the murder, if the violence were so electrifying, if they made the perpetrator feel so alive, he could perfectly understand why the twins always seemed so…  _alive_ , despite the dead look,  forever rotting, that was in their eyes.

One of the twins joined the attack, while the other tied the Commissioner to a chair, and somehow Jongleur after stealing a gun from a policeman, found himself standing by his side as he fired at the last remaining agents who had decided against trying to escape in hopes of being able to call for backup.

"I didn't expect to find you here, Jongleur." Valeska said, and from his tone and the lack of that distinctive mania in his gaze, the ex-guard recognized him as Jeremiah.

"They arrested me, and since they had no evidence, they were letting me go." he said in response, Jeremiah laughed as he shot the last remaining policeman who was not yet injured or dead.

"From alleged criminal to heinous murderer." Jeremiah said, the laughter still hidden in  his voice, making  him sound more cheerful than usual as  he holstered the gun after  putting back the safety. "You don't really go for half measures, huh?"

“What can I tell you, Jeremiah? In my alleged crime, I discovered that I like the thrill of having the police on my heels. " Jongleur answered, in a joke as much as Jeremiah's question had been.

The  Valeska gave him a half smile, before  gesturing him to follow him, which the ex-guard did without any hesitation.

"Greenwood!" Jeremiah called suddenly, stopping. "Shoot that one." he said pointing to a policeman who looked as dead as those next to him,  but on a closer look,  he noticed that he was not. "He's not that good at playing dead  as he thinks."

The aforementioned agent, once he realized he had been found, at least tried to shoot at his 'future killer' but before he could pull the trigger, Greenwood had already exploded half of his head with a shotgun's shot.

* * *

Finding Jongleur in the department had been a surprise to the twins. After all,  _what were the chances that their favorite Arkham guard was at the GCPD while they went to attack it? Virtually close to zero._

Seeing him follow his orders so promptly, was just as unlikely so seeing him do that had brought a smile to Jeremiah's lips, as he had never had anyone other than Jerome following his words without a single moment of doubt.

For a moment, as Jeremiah was climbing the stairs to join Jerome and the bound Commissioner, he wondered how far he could push the ex-guard.  _What could_ _he_ _have asked him to do? And how far could he have pushed before Jongleur rediscovered that he had a conscience and refused?_

"Hell of a first week you are having, eh, Commissioner?" Jerome asked the woman, his tone almost mocking, as he took off his jacket. Jeremiah's attention turned to him,  forgetting all about his intention of pushing Jongleur to his limits, for now. "I wish I could tell  you that things will get better…" Jerome's words seemed almost sincere, especially given the lack of his usual maniacal smile, the Commissioner gave him a strange look, as if the whole image that  she  had created of Jerome  in her head had been cracked by that moment of  _sincerity_ and  _humanity_. Jeremiah held back a chuckle at that, he enjoyed watching his twin play with people like that. Then Jerome met the  Commissioner’s gaze and smiled cruelly. “But they won't. In fact, they will probably only get  _worse_. "

Greenwood, with a camera in hand instead of a  shotgun, walked over.

“But look at the bright side, Commissioner. You won't have to worry about anything else, ever again, once we're done. " Jeremiah added, joining his twin in front of the Commissioner on the 'podium', or perhaps it was more a small stage, which Jerome had created by assembling desks, Jerome gave him a smile, the Commissioner gave him a fulminating look, of those who if they could kill they would make him drop dead instantly.

Jeremiah felt a smile  creeping up his face at that look.  _Well, he liked that the Commissioner was so brave, it would make_ breaking her _up more fun_.

Jerome motioned for Greenwood to get on the 'podium' in turn, so as to ' _have a_ _better angle_ _of the room_ ', the cannibal did. And Jeremiah  rolled his eyes, but smiling amused, when Jerome began to mimic a camera with his fingers, as if looking for the perfect  angle.

"Why are you  two  doing this?" The Commissioner asked, as  she tried to free  her hands, believing they weren't noticing  it.

"To  rule the world,  _blah, blah, blah._ " Jerome replied with a smile, gesturing theatrically.

"But for the moment  we’ll settle with a few dead cops and  some PR." Jeremiah said, completing Jerome's sentence once more. The two exchanged a look and smiled. "Kidding." they said together.

The  Commissioner gave them both a disgusted and disinterested look. Look that irritated Jeremiah somewhat,  _how dare that woman give them that look when she was at their mercy?_

“Yeah, whatever. I get it. You are completely crazy. " she said then, not a trace of fear in her face.

The smile on the twins' face disappeared, and while Jerome still had some trace of emotion on his face, Jeremiah's was completely blank.

" _Crazy_ , huh?" Jeremiah repeated in a dull voice, so cold that it caused a shiver both to the cannibal who watched and to the ex- guard. "You think we're crazy, huh?"

Jeremiah took a step forward, calm,  _too calm_.

Jerome stepped sideways and back a half step, and it was on seeing that that a drop of fear lit up in the  Commissioner's eyes.

Because the Valeska twins moved together, the action of one was that of the other, so their psychiatrists had said, so there had to be a reason  why one was moving away while the other approached.

Jeremiah continued to advance until he was facing the Commissioner, then  crouched down so that their eyes were on the same level. "Look at me, look me in the eye." said the Valeska, his voice still flat, monotonous in a way that made her shiver and his eyes were…  _cold, dead, expressionless_ like a doll's glass  eyes, there was nothing even remotely human in that gaze. It took all her willpower not to look away, disturbed by that…  _emptiness_. Jeremiah continued “Do I look crazy to you? My brother and I, we are perfectly  sane.  It’s the rest of the world that is… ' _crazy_ '. "

And perhaps the boy's tone had inadvertently softened, or the woman had seen something that Jeremiah  wasn’t even aware he was showing. Because  her disgust and  bravado gave way to something more sincere.

"Maybe." the woman accepted, surprise  flashed in the eyes of the two Valeskas at that quick and honest acceptance of what they saw as their truth. Jerome walked over, placing himself to the left of his twin.

"Maybe you are right." she repeated once more. “But you will get nothing by doing this. All this violence, the murders… The only thing you will get with  this… is your death. They’ll kill you both, if not us in a shooting  went wrong then  it will be the other criminals of Gotham. And after that, there will be nothing left. You will be forgotten… "

A small, incredulous, almost hysterical chuckle left Jerome's lips. "Wow, Commish, you almost convinced me!"  he exclaimed,  his voice too loud, a mask of what  he felt exactly like the smile on  his face. "For a moment, I almost fell for it."

Jeremiah just shook his head, with a condescending smile. "Careful, Commissioner, they might think you're sympathizing with us." he said with a small chuckle "It was really convincing, but let me tell you something you should work better on  you wording, well… not that you will have time to ever try again."  he continued, as  he stood up "Oh, and first rule of manipulation:  _Never try to_ _get_ _leverage_ _on_ _emotions when you're dealing with someone who doesn't have any._ "

The twins exchanged a look.

"And about what you said, about your ' _concern_ '" Jerome said ironically,  making the ‘air quotation mark’ gesture with his hands. "Don't worry. Nobody will forget us. And do you know why? " Jerome leaned towards her, to the point that he hissed the following words directly into her ear: "Because we will leave a mark on this city…"

“… Like a virus we will spread everywhere. And do you know why? " Jeremiah continued, also leaning towards her, caging her between them.

"Because there is nothing more contagious than laughter." Greenwood said from behind the camera.

Jerome turned, pulling out his gun in a single gesture, shooting the cannibal. "My line" he said, almost by way of explanation, as he sheathed the gun. Jeremiah stepped away from the Commissioner, leaving Jerome to be the one 'in the spotlight'. "Because there is nothing more contagious than laughter." said those words, the boy laughed, but unlike his normal laugh this sounded more forced more like an actual vocalization of  a written laugh than  a real laugh.

Realizing that she could not reason with the twins, the woman decided to do the second best thing.  _Fight_.

Taking the redhead by surprise, she headbutted, directly against his nose. His laughter becoming a pained groan.

Jeremiah was there immediately, pure fury in his gaze, completely supplanting the previous inexpressiveness. "You should not have done that." was all  he said as Jerome, his face stained with his own blood, laughed again as he turned to her. Once again.

"You  got me, congratulations.  _Now, it's our turn._ "

* * *

When Jim regained consciousness and returned to the department, what he had faced was a massacre. The Detective could count the bodies of at least a dozen agents, in the hall, their blood staining the marble, the surviving agents helping to move the bodies of their colleagues. But that wasn't what shocked him to the point of leaving him paralyzed, no, the thing that shocked him was… the  _composition_.

The Maniax, or rather the Valeskas because Jim could see the body of Robert Greenwood, dressed like a policeman, leaning against the railing of the second floor of the Hall, they had not left their crime scene as it was, no… they had… _they had posed the corpses_.

Some had already been moved, but the others… were like 'sitting' at their desks, a smile cut across their face (like the one Jerome drew on the face of all the 'portraits' in his diary), and… and Commissioner Essen was in the center of the 'composition', supported upright by the railing of the second floor and by the back of the chair behind  her.

A macabre smile engraved on her face, a precise incision that started from the neck and ended just before the navel (perhaps it was difficult to say with all that blood) that revealed the muscles underneath, as if… as if they had started to skin her and then… they didn't have time to finish…

Jim had to look away, a wave of nausea making his stomach twist.

"Thank God, Jim!"

Gordon barely registered his voice, still in shock. Harvey, his partner, one of his best friends –who, thank God, was fine. The twins hadn't had a chance to kill him and do what they had done to the others– hugged him tightly in  his arms.

Jim stood still, as if he didn't know how to react.

Harvey walked away after a moment. “Thank God you're fine. I thought those psychotic bastards…”  he let his voice fade for a moment “ But you're okay. "

Jim nodded. "How many…?"

Harvey looked at him for a moment, as if he to reassure himself that he was really there, as if he thought it was impossible.  _Why_?

“Counting the… Commissioner, fifteen. Those bastards killed fifteen cops and… they put up this little horror show of theirs and managed to escape. "

"We'll get them. They will pay for what they have done. " and Jim Gordon's words had the same purpose as a promise.

The Detective promised himself that he would no longer be fooled by the two, there was nothing salvable in those two…  _monsters_ , no matter how hard their life had been.

Nothing justified…  _this_. The massacre, the disfigurement, the way they posed the agents just because they could.

_ No, he would never be fooled by those two again. _

_ Never again. _

To the remaining agents, and to the survivors of the massacre, who were three: Edward Nygma, Kristen Kringle and Andrew Dove, the latter still in shock after seeing what the twins had done and which  had been practically the last defense  of the GCPD until when he had been forced into hiding as Edward and Kristen had done, to save his life, had taken hours to move the corpses and 'erase' the remains of the massacre as best they could, after taking the photos needed by forensics and collected the evidence, not that there were many that weren't bullet shells.

At that time Jim had also discovered why Harvey's reaction when he saw him.

The twins, who in their composition had put each agent  at their desk, had put someone at his desk, with his coat  on, and his face disfigured to the point that no one had been able to understand who he was… but, after noticing that detail of the composition… they thought it was  _him_.  Now, they were still trying to identify the real identity of the policeman left behind his desk.

Desk from which the twins had retrieved their journals, Jim had checked and the only thing he had found was the page of Jerome's diary where his portrait was, bloodstains  on the corners and written on the back in that quick handwriting that Jim knew by now  like his own, was written: ' _Thanks for protecting our diaries, Jimbo. We owe you a favor :)_ '

"Guys. Come here and look." the voice of one of the agents brought Jim back to the present.

A special edition of the Gotham Daily News had stopped  regular programming.

"I’m live from the Gotham City Police Department, which was the scene of a heinous massacre by the Maniax today. We have just received  video footage of the attack from one of the  assailants. I want to warn  those of you who are watching that what you are about to see is…  _very_ _graphic_. "

Shortly after, the image of the reporter was replaced by a slightly distorted shot and the Valeska twins, smiling, both with their hands covered in blood,  the camera angle was downwards so whoever was behind the camera was taller than the twins.

“ _Hello_ _, Gotham City!_ We are the Maniax, I'm Jerome! "

"And I'm Jeremiah, we are the  shot callers  of our little gang."

The twins introduced themselves, their voices too joyful, cheerful, as they spread their arms as if speaking to an audience. Under  the sound of  their voices they could hear someone groaning in pain.

"We are here to deliver a message of wisdom and  _hope_." Jerome continued, giggling as he pronounced that last word too loudly, he seemed almost  high, like a drug addict on his dose, his smile too broad,  pupils blown wide to the point that the green was almost unnoticeable.

Jeremiah pulled out his gun and fired at the policeman who was still alive, an irritated expression on his face. "Sorry, but some people  have no manners" he said,  re-holstering his gun. Before addressing the camera. "You are all prisoners." he continued, his voice a cold contrast to the overly joyful one of his twin. "What you call  sanity is just a prison in your minds,  that stops you  from seeing that you are just little cogs in a  giant, absurd machine." Jeremiah walked over to the camera " _Wake up_!" he said raising his voice suddenly, before moving, the camera being moved towards Jerome who had a knife in his hand, his hands even more bloodied than before as he cut a smile on the cop's face, the one Jeremiah must have had just shot.

"Why  be a cog?" he asked, his voice almost trembling with indefinable emotion… perhaps pure euphoria. “When you can be free,  _like us!_ And remember to smile, like our friend here! " he exclaimed, his words dissolving into laughter which, however, stopped shortly after with a surprised exclamation when sirens began to be heard in the distance. "Oh!  _We have to go_!"

The twins turned to the camera, and Jeremiah  made a gesture towards to the person behind the camera.

"Don't worry, we'll be back  very soon,  hang onto your hats, folks, ‘ cause you  have seen nothing yet!"

Their laughter, the last sound before the  footage stopped.


	17. Chapter XVI: Rehearsals for the last show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s almost time for the last act, and Jeremiah is starting to have his doubts while Jerome rehears with Theo, to be sure that all is perfect for the Gala.

Separating from their favorite guard again had been…  _harder_ than they thought it would be. But as much as they didn't want to, they were more than sure Theo wouldn't be happy if they took him to his skyscraper with them.

After all, the Galavan believed that his sister and his men had killed all the guards who had been stationed  around the Asylum Common Room, the day he 'rescued' them along with the other Maniax, so his reaction to knowing that one of them had survived would not  be all that positive, probably.

And Jongleur had been loyal to them, he hadn't betrayed them even when the police arrested him, and he had even apologized, profusely, for letting their  diaries fall into Jim Gordon's hands.

The twins had found his apologies amusing, and just a bit touching. No one had ever apologized to them for anything, let alone something so small that the two Valeskas already had a plan B. Jeremiah really doubted that Jim and his braves had managed to go beyond his labyrinths and see the hidden message, or rather, the hidden _messages_ in them.

_If they_ _had done it, Jongleur_ _wouldn’t_ _have been released, and Harley would have been arrested._

So to repay him for his loyalty they had decided it would be better to split up again.

And Jerome had added a joke: ' _Stay tuned and wait for the next special edition_ ' when the guard, –well ex-guard by now, probably, although now that he had been cleared of the charges maybe he could have taken his post again, Arkham wasn't that shiny pillar of legality…  _and Jongleur had been one of their best guards_ , he was able to 'keep them in check' after all, it would have been a real shame if Arkham  didn’t rehire him–, had asked them how he could know  their whereabouts.

After their paths diverged again, the Valeskas returned to Theo's skyscraper and, luckily for them, none of  Theo’s men who had been with them during the attack on the GCPD deemed Jongleur's presence as something to notify the billionaire.

Later that same day, Theo joined them for dinner. Something that the man had never done before, he usually only joined them for breakfast, and sometimes if he was too busy he didn't do that either. Although… he,  somehow,  was always there when the twins had 'lessons' with his sister, or… in general when they were alone somewhere in his skyscraper.

It was almost creepy to think about it, how much time Theo spent with them. But maybe it was just because he was the first person who cared about them, and the two  boys had no idea what it was like when someone cared about your existence, so maybe it was normal and they  just worried too much.

Their seats at the table were the same  as always, they to Theo's left and Barbara to his right, the only difference was that they were the only ones now. Only the three of them, Barbara and the Valeskas, remained from the team of 'brilliant criminals' that Theo had assembled.

_ Sionis had been the first to die, and to be honest he hadn't even been a member of the Maniax. _

_ Dobs was the second, too slow, killed by the explosion of the bus they set on fire. _

_ Greenwood had been the third, Jerome had shot him for stealing his line and as much as they liked the cannibal, he didn't feel guilty for doing it. _

_ Helzinger… he wasn't dead, he ran away, according to the report Barbara had just given. _

And as Theo just shook his head, disappointed by the man's action and most likely ready to plan his death in the very near future, Jeremiah remembered a rhyme he'd read in a book, ' _... And Then There Were None_ ' by Agatha Christie, the nursery rhyme was about ten little indians and how they all died slowly until none of the ten remained, and the situation with the Maniax was similar, they started in six and now they were alone in three.

A deep sense of unease, creeping and suffocating, began to  present itself, slow like oil spilling on water, dark and tainting.

Jerome turned to him, having, most likely, felt his emotion and wanting to ask at least a little explanation as to why he was suddenly feeling so  uneasy.

Jeremiah replied with an imperceptible, to anyone who was not Jerome, sign to tell him that ' _it was nothing serious_ ', while at the same time trying to stifle that emotion that had no reason to exist. It was just a  mere  coincidence that the situation had reminded him of that rhyme, it meant nothing.

After all, Theo intended to make them  _stars_ , the faces that would terrorize Gotham for the time being, and he wouldn't get any of that if… _if they died_.

_ They were important, fundamental too, Theo had said so. They were safe, yes  _ safe. 

By repeating this Jeremiah was able to stifle that sense of discomfort and push out of his mind the memory of that rhyme that seemed so strangely suited to the situation in which they found themselves. But a trace of that emotion continued to persist for the entire duration of the dinner.

"You were amazing today." Theo said, once they'd finished their dinner, a slight, dark smile on his lips as his gaze stayed on them, moving only briefly to Barbara. "And the speech you left in the  footage  was interesting,  _brilliant_ I might say."

Jerome found himself smiling faintly at the compliments Theo was paying them. Jeremiah smiled shortly after as those words stifled the last trace of discomfort that was left from his previous thoughts.

"With this, and with our next and final act, Gotham will never forget you." Theo added.

"And what does this last act of ours consist of?" Jeremiah asked curiously.

Theo's smile became sharper, the darkness that the twins had seen that morning that came back stronger, more intense, cold and oh so  _fascinating_. "You will stab Gotham in its beating heart, killing its Beloved Child,  _Bruce Wayne_."

And there was something about the way Theo pronounced that name that if the twins had been another kind of person would have made them shiver. Because there was so much of that hatred, corrosive and poisonous, that for a moment the Galavan seemed like a completely different person, more someone who was on the same level as the twins than the person he had pretended to be until now.

"A charity gala will be held in a few days, Bruce Wayne and the rest of Gotham’s elite will be there." Theo continued, that darkness still present, still visible and not seeming to give any sign of retreating and the twins were so fascinated that they didn't even feel how their instincts were trying to warn them, because there was something in the way he was looking at them like a snake looking at its prey before  striking. "And, of course,  _you'll be there too_."

Having said those words, Theo began to explain his plan for the Gala to them. The twins and Barbara would have infiltrated the event.

Jerome and Barbara would take the place of the magician and his assistant, while Jeremiah would remain behind the scenes guiding Theo's men, telling them how and when to act, closing all entrances and exits, once the show of the ' _Great_ _Rodolfo_ ' had begun.

The twins had exchanged glances at that, not very happy to have to work on two separate  plans, but, at the same time, they understood why. It would have been suspicious if suddenly the magician had turned out to have a twin when up until then nothing had been said to the organizers, especially since, although not very observant the citizens of Gotham generally were, they could have put two and two together in noting that detail.

_ But while they understood Theo's motives, that didn't mean they agreed. _

* * *

_ Jeremiah had no idea where he was, only that it was cold, his footsteps resounding metallic in the silence, and that everything around him was wrapped in a thick blanket of darkness. And… that Jerome wasn't with him. No matter where he turned, his brother wasn't there. _

_For a moment, as an emotion he had not felt since he was a child grew and grew, he feared he had gone blind, but then in the distance, in that expanse of_ _nothing, he saw a light, a toxic green glow, mixed with the crackling orange of the fire. Not knowing where else to go, Jeremiah followed that light, hoping that Jerome was waiting for him there._

_ But  he wasn’t. _

_ Jerome wasn't there. _

_Jeremiah was alone, still alone –why? Where was Jerome? Why couldn't he hear him? Where was he? Where was he?!–, on a steel_ _catwalk, under him a_ _vat_ _filled with a bubbling liquid, the source of the light, whose disgustingly sweet and sticky smell reminded him of the smell of a burn, of burnt skin and infection. A sticky film over the_ _exposed muscle, him changing_ _Jerome’s bandages, almost every day, dirtying his hands with the blood of his twin as he cleaned the wound._

_ The fear that Jerome would get sick, that… he'd leave him, forever. _

_Jeremiah shook his head, chasing away that image, his gaze fixed on the_ _vat, on the bubbling liquid, thick, so thick, like the soups Zach prepared. So intent on watching that simmering that he didn't even realize how close he was._

_ It took just a moment of inattention, the rusty railing gave way and Jeremiah, taken by surprise by the sudden lack of support, fell. _

_A surprised sound left his lips as he stretched his hands towards the catwalk, but there was no one, there was no one, where was Jerome? Where was_ _he?!_

_ Jeremiah closed his eyes, waiting for the impact, but what he felt, instead of seething liquid enveloping him, was a tug and his fall stopped. Someone had taken his hand. _

_Jeremiah opened his eyes, expecting to meet the identical ones of his twin, but he didn't. Theo Galavan's dark eyes, gloomily illuminated by the toxic green of the_ _vat, were those that met his._

_ The man gave him a smile, seraphic, of those almost cruel smiles he had seen on his face as he thought of the victims the Maniax had mowed down for his plan, that same sharp smile that had folded his lips when he spoke of  Bruce  Wayne. _

_"You and your brother are indispensable to me." he said, not even for a moment to raise it towards the catwalk. "But, for_ _how much I_ _appreciate your work, I need someone_ _who_ _follows_ _my orders."_

_Theo's grip loosened just as Jeremiah slipped towards the_ _vat, the boy moved his other hand, trying to cling, but he couldn't, as if all his strength had left him._

_With his gaze he searched frantically for any sign that could prove the presence of his twin, the only person he could trust, but_ Jerome  wasn’t  there. 

“ _And we do it! We follow your orders, to the letter! "_

_The only response to his words was a dry and cruel laugh, which reminded Jeremiah of his uncle. “Oh, I know. But you see, Jeremiah, your brother trusts me… you_ don't. And I know you could lead him not to trust  _me,_ _see? And I really need someone to follow my orders without asking questions. It's really simple business, nothing personal. "_

_ Theo's smile widened, his gaze cold and disinterested as if everything he had said up to this moment meant nothing, as if Jeremiah meant nothing to him, as if it were just yet another obstacle to overcome, and the man  let his hand go. _

_ Jeremiah yelled, unsuccessfully trying to grab the catwalk, he called the man's name and then that of his twin but no one came to help him, no one… _

_ Heat, unbearable heat like liquid flames enveloped him, filling his lungs, covering his eyes until all he could see was green, green, green… and screaming was useless, it was useless but he couldn't stop. The pain was excruciating, the only thing he could feel, the only thing he could feel, something grabbed him, pulling him deeper and deeper… _

_ "-iah!" _

_ A distant, disembodied voice that couldn't recognize the bubbling too loud in his ears, bony hands grabbed his arms and Jeremiah could feel his own skin melt, melt. _

_Jerome!_ _He_ _needed him! Where was_ _he?_

_Those cold, bony hands, were they Lila's? Had she come to throw him into hell with her? They grabbed his shoulders. Pulling_ _him_ _down lower and lower…._

Jeremiah opened his eyes, with a scream… or maybe he was already screaming before, it took him a few moments to chase away the still so vivid green of his nightmare from his vision, to realize he wasn't in that  vat, that  there was was no acid that was devouring his skin. And it took him a few more moments to realize Jerome, the vivid terror in his eyes, the tears on his face, his worried and terrified expression.

His hands clenched, strong on his shoulders. Not Lila's,  _his_ , it was he who had taken him by the shoulders, not to pull him down but to wake him up.

Jerome's gaze met his.

"Jeremiah?" He said unsure, his voice still trembling, still so fearful that Jeremiah found it hard to recognize it as his  twin’s. Jerome, like him, was not afraid of anything, it was so…  _strange_ to hear him like this.

But he was there, he was no longer alone. Jeremiah hugged his twin with a snap, squeezing him tightly as if to make sure he was really there, that this was reality and not… not what he had dreamed of.

"’Miah?"

"Hug me, Jerome, please." said, instead of answering, his voice hoarse from the scream. Jerome let go of his shoulders and hugged him back in his arms, saying nothing even though Jeremiah could  _feel_ his worry, his fear as if they were his.

The two Valeskas remained embraced for a few long minutes, neither of them said a word, while Jeremiah  reassured himself of  the presence of his twin, that he was really there, still shaken by the sensation of cold he had felt in the nightmare, by that feeling of  _emptiness…_ That feeling like half of  his soul wasn't there with him.

"’Miah? What happened?" Jerome asked, his voice low and soothing, as he continued to hold him in his arms.

"Just… a nightmare." he answered in a whisper, his already low voice  muffled  against his twin's shoulder. "I was… alone, you weren't with me, you weren't anywhere, and I… I couldn't  _feel_ you, it was as if  you’d never been there…"

"Shh, 'Miah, I'm here. I'll always be here with you. " Jerome whispered, stroking his back comfortingly. "I will never leave you. You and me against the world, remember? "

"Yes, yes, I remember  it ." Jeremiah replied, his voice soft if still hoarse. "Jer, can you promise me something?"

"Sure, 'Miah."

"Promise me you'll pay attention to the Gala, when you're on stage without me, be careful…"

"I…  _Yes, I promise you_." Jerome answered, though he was confused by her request. "But why? I don't understand, 'Miah, what are you afraid of? "

Jeremiah took a small breath, not responding immediately, holding Jerome closer to him, before whispering to him, inaudible to anyone but them. "I don't trust Theo."

Jerome pulled away so he could look him in the eye, confusion clear on his face. " Why? He saved us, he believes in us… "

"I... I know, it's just a feeling..." Jeremiah let his voice fade as he slipped into a tense silence, if Jerome didn't want to trust his word then, then  he would lead him to believe  them, recalling that feeling  of uneasiness he had  felt at dinner, Jeremiah concentrated on that, looking down as if he were unsure, as if he were  _afraid_.

Not a second later, responding promptly to his reactions as he always did, Jerome approached again, bringing a hand to  cup the side of his face. Jeremiah forced himself not to immediately meet Jerome's gaze.

“Jer… Theo… _Theo looks at you like Uncle Zach did_ …” he whispered, meeting Jerome's gaze. "I… I can't trust someone who looks at you like that, not after…"

Jerome pulled him into a hug. “I'll pay attention, from now on and to Gala. I swear to you, Jeremiah. "

\---

The next day Jerome and Barbara began rehearsing for the Gala.

And while her twin was teaching the blonde on the secrets of sleight of hand, and preparing her speech. Jeremiah watched them, but he wasn't just watching them.

Paying attention to the two Galavans as well, the way Theo seemed to have eyes only for Jerome, his gaze moving away from him only to move to him. Every time this happened Jeremiah pretended not to notice him, looking at his twin or checking his weapons for the umpteenth time, like the Zigana he intended to take with him, for safety, _after all Theo certainly could not expect him to remain unarmed,_ _right?_

Or at least that had been his excuse when the billionaire had asked him why he had taken it. Tabitha, on the other hand, smiled at him, arrogant and as if she knew something he didn't know, and explained how to use  a karambit  knife.

Tabitha, on the other hand, seemed more disinterested in them preferring to  give her attention to Barbara instead, so after a couple of days of observing her too Jeremiah decided to focus only on Theo.

Theo who would ' _try_ ' to save little Bruce Wayne, as he was doing now  during the rehearsal, trying to distract Jerome with his words, before being 'stunned' by Barbara. Theo would have failed but still would have passed as a hero for trying.

Yet… Jeremiah couldn't shake the feeling that something was  _wrong_.

As if he was forgetting  _something_.  _Something important._


	18. Chapter XVII: Tragedy at the Gala.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time for the Fourth Act, the Maniax' Grand Finale, the Twins are ready to give their best. But there is one thing they have forgot, in five-act plays, the fourth is always: Tragedy, before the Hero’s Rise.

_ Today was the day. _

In a few hours the Gala would begin, the last act of the Maniax. The Grand Finale.

For the Valeska twins, the beginning of the rest of their life.

The moment Jerome slit the throat of Gotham's Beloved Son, they would become…  _eternal_. Criminals the city would never forget, their name written in  Gotham’s History in Bruce Wayne's blood.

Jerome, now, remembered by heart every single action that he would have had to perform in the show, he had practiced and rehearsed it a thousand and one times in these last days before the Gala.

Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something was  _wrong_ , because Jeremiah was nervous, and his sweet little brother was never nervous, no, he was always sure, sure that everything would go as planned, but now  he wasn't.

No, he was nervous now,  _unsure_. And he was checking his Zigana every ten minutes  straight not a minute before nor after, before bringing his hand to the curved handle of the karambit  knife  that he had placed in a special sheath secured to his thigh.

Jerome made a final adjustment to the wide black  cravat he wore around his neck, before approaching his brother. "’ Miah, are you all right? You look…”He paused a little, unsure of what to say, knowing that even when they were alone Jeremiah didn't like acknowledging his weaknesses. " _Agitated_." he decided to say in the end

Jeremiah met his gaze as he let go of the handle of the karambit knife. "Huh? Oh, no, no, everything’s okay. " he said, giving him a small smile, which to anyone else might have seemed genuine, but Jerome knew his twin and knew it _wasn't_. That smile was too perfect, too picture perfect for him to be fooled. But before he could ask anything, Jeremiah suddenly approached, crossing his arms behind his neck, and approaching just a little more, to whisper: "Be careful on stage, _okay_?" in his ear, before kissing him square on the lips, without waiting for an answer, and walking away. That fake and plastic smile on his lips once again.

Jerome stood motionless, dazed for a few moments, before being brought back to reality by Tabitha's voice who apparently had arrived at some point during their exchange.

Jeremiah must have heard her coming, that's why he'd  acted  that way, to hide his uncertainty and to make sure she couldn't hear him.

"Oh, so this is your  naughty little secret, huh?" she said with a smirk.

The twins pretended not to have heard what she had said, Tabitha was not offended, but her smile just widened.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone." she said “Far be it from me to judge you. In fact,  it would be quite hypocritical of me. "

The two Valeskas looked at her, surprised at her implication, Tabitha said nothing more.

“Come on, reds, let's go. Your time has come. "

"And Barbara?"

"She’ll arrive later with my brother."

The twins nodded and followed Tabitha as she left the room, the same room that had been 'theirs' for months.  The  Galavan pretended not to notice how the two Valeskas were holding hands as they walked, or how strong Jeremiah's grip was on  his brother's hand.

From Theo's skyscraper it didn't take long for them to reach the Hotel  _Capitale_ , where the gala was to be held, and while Jerome went behind the scenes of the stage to organize the show, like any self-respecting good magician, Jeremiah was in  an other kind of  backroom, in a staff room, explaining to Theo's men, all disguised as waiters and other staff members, – _the real members of the Hotel staff were probably kidnapped somewhere or_ dead–, what to do and how to get around. Directing them like a head-waiter directed the waiters.

Unlike Theo's and Jerome's men, he didn't have a disguise. And he didn't like the implication of it at all, so he had modeled his plan for him to stay hidden as long as possible.  It wasn’t part of  Theo's plan but  it was in his and Jerome's.

And while it was clear to the boy that those men were bothered by being ruled by what they probably only saw as a  _'kid'_ , he didn't care too much. His focus of him was more on the room where his twin would soon be doing his magic show than on the one he was in at the moment.

"What are you waiting for?  _Go_ , the guests will have arrived by now. " Jeremiah exclaimed, after noticing that none of Theo's men had left the room, his hand on the Zigana.

"And what will you do?" asked one of them, disguised as a waiter, the only one who had the courage, or perhaps the stupidity, to meet his gaze.

"I'll introduce myself as soon as the curtain of the real show is raised, of course." he replied, an icy smile on his lips, his gaze  cold and unblinking. More than one of those men took a step back under that gaze, but they all nodded to an unspoken question and got a move on, leaving the room and going to carry out their 'tasks' which at  this time mimicked those of their disguises.

And Jeremiah was left alone in the room, that feeling of uneasiness that came back and grew,  _grew_.  _Because there was something he was forgetting, something important, something fundamental that would help him understand what was bothering him so much, he knew it was so but he couldn't remember what it was!_

Jeremiah began to walk up and down the  room, his discomfort mingled with the frustration of not being able to remember that  _something_ , making him feel like a caged animal as he walked up and down the room, up and down.

He heard  a  distant applause, coming from the  other room and Jerome's voice distorted by a false and lower accent, a cartoon-like caricature of his own voice, though it reminded him of Cillian the Magnificent, Haly's illusionist, probably Jerome was inspired by him.

Jeremiah focused on his twin's voice, which, however distorted and different from usual, always had the same calming effect on him.

"Some  people say Bruce has a split personality."

Jeremiah chuckled softly at the joke, preparing to make his entrance on the scene. Soon Jerome would kill the Deputy Mayor, Harrison Cane… no, _Harrison Kane_.

"Oh,  and by the way nobody here is getting out alive"

Jeremiah felt a sharp smile curl his lips.  _This_ _was his_ _cue._

* * *

At that same moment Jim Gordon arrived outside the hotel after receiving a call from his girlfriend, Lee, who was also the organizer of the event.  He was worried about what Lee had told him, about the way the phone call was suddenly cut off.

And seeing all those police cars around the hotel only served to accentuate his concern.

"What’s going on?" he asked one of the agents in the area as he approached.

"A hostage situation, Captain." the agent answered immediately, as he guided him to the rest of his unit. "The magician killed the Deputy Mayor."

“That’s no magician. It's Jerome Valeska, the… _man_ who killed Commissioner Essen." he said, his colleague's expression darkened, anger clear in his eyes. Jim continued, "Who's in charge here?"

"I  guess you are, Captain." the man answered.

Jim nodded, preparing to say something when his phone rang.  _It was Lee, thank God..._

“Lee, thank God! I’ve been trying to…"

But the voice that interrupted him was someone else's, and it was a voice that he knew well, cruel and amused, always a bit too manic. Jerome Valeska was on the other end of the phone, and Jim felt his blood run cold at the implication.

“Sorry, Jimbo. It's just little old me." Valeska chuckled “Are you outside? _You are_ , aren't you? " another chuckle and Jim could not take it anymore and interrupted him, angry worried.

_ If that  bastard had hurt Lee… _

"I swear to God, Jerome, if  you’ve hurt her-"

"Shh, breathe, James." the boy answered, his tone falsely calming, too soft, without even a trace of the usual mania that accompanied his voice.  It managed to make his anger  disappear, replacing it with a deep, chilling unease. Thankfully with his next words, Jerome's voice was back to its usual. “I assure you that I have not touched a single hair  on your girlfriend’s pretty head. In fact, why don't you  see it  for  yourself,  this is live television after all. "

At that same moment, just as Jerome was saying those last words, an agent in a news van informed him that they had retrieved the feed, Jim joined him in a moment.

And in the various screens of the van  he could see  him,  _Jerome Valeska_ on stage with the phone in hand, Lee tied to the knife-throwing  board and Barbara next to her, and despite his concern for Lee's safety, Jim noticed that someone was missing.

_Jeremiah Valeska_ _wasn’t_ _there._

"Where the hell is your brother?" he asked Jerome through his phone, from the screen he could see how Jerome was taken by surprise by his question, as if he expected a whole other answer instead of the one he had received. Then his smile widened, Jerome turned his face looking towards someone, the cameraman inside followed his gaze. There, at the end of the room, near one of the curtains, stood Jeremiah Valeska, gun in hand, smiling but cold even as he waved _hello_.

Jim felt a drop of irritation present  itself along with the anger and worry he was feeling.

"Jimbo wanted to know where you were, 'Miah! Isn't that  _nice_ of him? " Jerome asked, before laughing, as if he found the very concept of someone wanting to know where they were funny, or…  _absurd_.

For just a moment, before Jim pushed the thought away, not considering it important, – _because it wasn't!_ –, he felt a dull  sort of misplaced sadness for the twins,  _for_ _how_ _long_ _they_ _have_ _been… ignored in their life to find the simple thought… absurd?_

"Anyway…" Jerome began, stretching the vowels too much, the cameraman moved the camera over him "Even if we are really, really touched by your  _concern…_ " another chuckle interrupted his speech "Let's talk about what me  and Miah want, huh? " Jerome approached the camera stepping over the Deputy Mayor's corpse, with a small, sarcastic ' _Excuse me_ '. “So, and I hope you're taking notes Jimbo, we want forty-seven million dollars, a helicopter,  obviously , the  dry-cleaning I left at Mr. Chang's and, be careful,  the man is a crook and… uh,  _a pony_! " Jerome laughed again, aware of how absurd their demands were.  _Because_ _they_ _were, they_ _really_ _were absurd…_

The realization struck Jim like a flash, the Valeska twins weren't going to let anyone leave the room,  _they were going to kill them all._

“Oh, and you have 10 minutes to give us what we want, or we'll start killing some of our dearest guests. And remember this is being broadcast to... every single home in Gotham… so, you know, you don't want to let people die. "

With these words, Jerome began to laugh and  _laugh_.

His loud maniacal laugh that seemed to surround him, coming from both his phone and the screens. And he continued,  _continued_ … mingling with the memory of fire and screams, the memory of the disfigured policemen and the tortured body of the commissioner. And that of Agent Miller who had been unlucky enough to  resemble him just enough for the twins to be able to pull their  stunt at the department.

_He had to stop them. He had to_ … because Jim wasn't sure he could carry the weight of other of their victims.

* * *

Jeremiah smiled as he looked at Jerome, rolling his eyes  just a little at that exaggeration of his normal laugh. His twin stopped laughing suddenly.

"Uh, I think  that went well."

Jerome's gaze shifted to him and Jeremiah, instead of answering him vocally, gave him a smile and a quick wink,  to Jerome that recognition seemed enough.

Jeremiah then shifted his attention to where Theo sat, instinctively tightened his grip on the Zigana, his relaxed posture becoming slightly more tense, as the Galavan stood up, beginning with his boring speech.

His tone was too ostentatious, too flat, Jeremiah thought it was all too obvious that he was repeating something tried and  rehearsed. But no one else seemed to notice.

_The citizens of Gotham were indeed idiots, and this was confirmed to_ _him_ _every single time._

Jerome let Theo join him on the stage, Jeremiah just for a moment let his gaze move around the room as his brother said, "I'm curious,  about what your leverage is, Mr...?"

As Theo introduced himself, in a tone so flat that Jeremiah had to forcibly hold back a chuckle, the boy noticed the absence of someone important in the room.

_ Where was Bruce Wayne? _

Jeremiah looked for the child, but he found him nowhere. And now that he noticed it, his butler seemed…  _too_ _calm_. While Barbara  knocked Theo  out, as by the plan, Jeremiah left the room, Zigana in hand and ready to use his karambit  knife if ever the occasion required it. Not that he thought it was needed, little Wayne was just a rich  little kid who had no idea how to defend himself…  _probably_.

Refraining from calling the boy's name like the antagonist of a shoddy horror movie, Jeremiah kept looking for him.

_ Bruce couldn't be far, there was no way to leave the hotel, so he must have been hiding somewhere, but where? _

In one of the corridors, behind a back door, Jeremiah found a spiral staircase, but before he could think of going down, someone came up to him as  they ran up the stairs.

The person tried to pull back, but Jeremiah didn't let  them,  blocking them in his arms, in a way that almost felt like a violent parody of a hug.

“Hi, _Bruce_. _I was looking for you._ " Jeremiah whispered with a cruel smile on his lips. Bruce in his arms stopped moving, freezing in fear, looking at him with his big blue eyes. He was almost _cute_ like that, looking like a doll with those eyes so blue and a face so perfect. It made him want to… _break_ _him_.

Jeremiah stifled an involuntary chuckle that had been caused by the thought.

“Oh, don't look at me like that, Bruce. I don't want to hurt you, _I promise._ "

"L-Let me go." Bruce said, his voice uncertain but it was clear,  to Jeremiah, that his intent had been to order it.

Jeremiah's smile widened. "Okay, Brucie."

Bruce gave him an astonished and suspicious look when he, in fact, loosened his grip, walking a few steps away  from him giving the kid a bit of space, Jeremiah heard a hesitant applause coming  from the distance, from the room where Jerome was.

"See? I'm not that unreasonable. "

Bruce glanced behind him, where the staircase was, but  didn’t try to run away, instead meeting his gaze, the uncertainty disappeared behind a determination that made his eyes shine. And Jeremiah had never been so fascinated by anyone other than his twin.

_ It was a real shame that Bruce Wayne would be dead soon, a real, real shame. _

That thought brought back to his mind the fact that… there was something he couldn't remember, something…  _something important_.  But before his frustration distracted him too much he noticed that the kid was saying something.

“-You will not be able to escape this time. You and your brother will be arrested! "

Jeremiah's attention snapped back to Bruce, the  kid had approached him, his eyes seeming to burn with righteous anger, so different yet so similar to his twin's that Jeremiah couldn't help but get close, responding instinctively at a signal he knew Bruce wasn't really giving.

Instinctively, Bruce took a step back, missing the step, a shocked sound left his lips as he lost his balance. But before he could fall, Jeremiah grabbed his wrist pulling him back, pulling him towards  himself, back into his arms. But this time without the aggressive grip.

The two remained silent. Bruce  gave a confused look at the redhead, unable to understand why he had pulled him back.  _What did he gain from this?_

The silence was broken by Jerome's distant, aggressive voice. "Bruce! Where are you,  buddy?!"

Jeremiah smiled cruelly. "Well, Brucie looks like we have to get back on stage, hm?"

* * *

Alfred had  by  now rationalized and accepted that he most likely would die at the hands of that madman who was holding everyone hostage.  _That wanted to kill Bruce for some reason_.

Not that  that madman needed a reason, most likely he didn't, men like him didn't have a reason behind their actions,  _they just wanted to see the world burn_.

“Last chance, Bruce. Come out or it will get very butler brain-y out here" Jerome said, no, yelled into the microphone.

"There is no need for other threats, Jer.  _Brucie is here!_ "

Alfred almost whirled around, blocked by the henchman with the  rifle before he could. Jeremiah Valeska had just entered the  room and was walking towards the stage,  a big satisfied smile on his face, as he pulled Bruce  along  with him, Bruce  who looked shocked and terrified and disappointed at the same time, as if he believed  himself guilty for having let himself be captured by  the madman.

_No! He wouldn't let those bastards hurt him!_ _Even if it_ _was the last thing he did._

* * *

Jeremiah barely had time to leave Bruce to his twin, before someone from behind the curtains shot three of Theo's men, at the same time Bruce's butler disarmed and stunned the man who had been targeting him up to that moment. 

Two more shots and suddenly he and Jerome were alone against the newly arrived Jim Gordon and the butler who had taken the gun of the guy he had stunned.

Jerome grabbed Bruce, putting him between him and the two of them, a knife against his neck and Jeremiah pointed the Zigana at Jim.

"If either of you tries to shoot my twin, I swear I'll kill him!" Jerome exclaimed, while Jim yelled at him to: ' _Drop_ _the knife._ '

The four were at a stalemate.

The tension that permeated the air, a tense silence had descended between them, not even the hostages dared make a sound.

"I said  enough!"

Theo's sudden voice almost made him jump and Jeremiah ventured to look from Jim to the stage.

Jerome was turning, more by instinct than anything else, Jeremiah noticed Bruce, their future victim, trying to… _push Jerome_ , but not to free himself, but to push him…  _away_?  _From what-?_

And suddenly, in the fraction of an instant it took his mind to realize what was happening in front of his eyes, Jeremiah remembered what he was trying to remember up to that moment.

_The fourth act was never the conclusion, it was always the_ _Tragedy_ _before the_ _Hero’s Rise._

* * *

Before he could understand what was happening, Jim saw Jeremiah Valeska drop his gun as a scream, a terrible scream, pain and terror mixed in an inhuman sound left his mouth.

Jim had  _heard_ Jerome Valeska's death, before he even understood what Theo Galavan had done. And he had reacted on instinct, when he saw the remaining Valeska running towards the stage, Jim had launched himself against him and had him pinned to the floor.

“Jerome! No! Jerome! "

Jeremiah tried to shake him off as he called out his twin's name, despair growing in his tone.

Another cry, like that of a wounded animal, left his mouth as Theo Galavan pulled the knife from his twin's throat.

" _Theo Galavan!_ " cried the boy, pure fury, blinding fury in his voice "I'll kill you! I'll tear you apart, I swear! When I'm done with you, no one will be able to recognize you! "

Jeremiah's actions became more frantic and imprecise, it was just fury and despair and Jim was certain that the boy had even forgotten that he was stuck, that Jim was holding him down, because he was no longer trying to free himself from his grip or  his weight. He was just trying to pull himself forward, to go to the stage.

Only one thought in his mind, to go up on stage and take his revenge.  _Killing the killer of his twin._

Jim had to put more pressure to stop him, to keep him from moving. Yet even while he was doing this, the only thing he could think about was that:

_ Nobody deserved this suffering. _

_ Not even Jeremiah Valeska. _

Jeremiah tried to pull himself forward again, only blocked by his grip. Only a word left his mouth like a litany ' _Jerome, Jerome, Jerome_ ', his eyes fixed on the body of his twin, motionless on the stage.

The shadow of a last smile imprinted on his face, his eyes that… however vacant, were  looking at Jeremiah.

_ Jerome… Jerome had been looking for his twin, in his last moments he had been looking for Jeremiah, for his presence to be there for him like it had been for their whole lives. _

With that realization, Jim, involuntarily,  almost let Jeremiah  go.  But managed not to, just at the last moment.

When the agents entered,  securing the area, Jeremiah was still calling out his twin's name, no longer in a scream but in a whisper, any thoughts of revenge seemed to have left him at the moment.

Jim had handcuffed the Valeska, and told four officers to take him to a police car, because he wasn't sure what Jeremiah would do if he were still there when the agents came to take his twin's body away.

Just a few moments before he did so, Bruce Wayne, tears running down his face, shock and sadness, and guilt – but for what?–, approached them, Jeremiah didn’t even react. 

“I’m sorry, I… I tried to _save him_ … I… I’m sorry.”

Jeremiah just looked at Bruce for a moment, seemingly not even seeing him really. Then the agents arrived, and Bruce was pulled back from Alfred.

Just for a moment, as the agents carried away Jeremiah, who seemed to have lost all resistance, Jim met his gaze and… he held back a shiver.

His eyes were…  _empty_.

_Completely empty_.

Once, when Jim was still in the army he wondered if it was really possible for someone to die, without actually dying. And now he had the answer, and it was  that: _yes, it was possible_.

For Jeremiah Valeska's eyes, as he was taken away, were as empty as the glassy,  vacant ones of his twin.

Jeremiah might still be breathing, but…  _he_ _had died_ _the_ _exact_ _moment his twin took his last breath._


	19. Chapter XVIII: I’ll speak only to Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the aftermath of the Gala. Jim is trying to get information on who freed the Valeskas. But Jeremiah won’t talk… not unless Jim does something for him.

Jim wasn't sure what to expect back in the police department. Part of him, even if he didn't want to admit it, was worried, all of his colleagues had a personal  vendetta against Jeremiah Valeska, for killing their colleagues, for killing Commissioner Essen and he was worried that someone would try to get that revenge.

Fortunately the boy was unscathed, at least physically, mentally… Jim wasn't sure he wanted to know what state he was in at the moment. The words of Jerome's psychiatrist that recurred in his mind: ' _They are stable as long as they are together_ ',  _and if what they had been until now was 'stable' then… how would the remaining Valeska be without his twin?_

_ And did he really want to know? _

_No,_ but he had the feeling that he would find out…  _soon_. After all, they needed to get information on how the twins and the rest of their gang left Arkham, as Jim doubted the evidence they found in Paul Cicero's apartment, it was too…  _convenient_ to be real. And the only way he had to get that information was: to interrogate Jeremiah Valeska.

Which led him to where he was now, in an interrogation room, alone with the interrogated.

Jeremiah had followed the agents meekly, his face completely empty of all expression, his gaze absent and distant.

It was unnerving. More than  his cold and crooked smile, more than that expressionless look that he had seen several times on his face, because this time there was really  _nothing_ in  those eyes. If he wasn't seeing his chest move with his breath, if he hadn't seen him move, Jim would seriously think he was dead.

"Who organized the escape, Jeremiah? I know  it wasn't your father." the Detective asked, breaking the oppressive silence, Jeremiah didn't even move his gaze, didn't give any reaction as if he hadn't even heard him.

Jim tried again, asking the same question, but nothing. Jeremiah Valeska just kept looking ahead, giving no indication that…  _he was actually understanding what was happening around him._

"I know you hate the police, Jeremiah, but-"

"Have you already started  cutting him open?" Jeremiah's voice as he said those words was monotonous, not a trace of emotion in his tone, the total opposite of what it had been a few hours before.

"What?" Jim asked involuntarily, more because he had been taken by surprise by the sudden question, and by the newfound vigilance of the boy who was now staring at him intently, than because he hadn't understood the question.

" _Jerome_." Jeremiah answered immediately. "Have you already started  cutting him open? Has anyone already put their  filthy hands inside my twin?" his voice losing that monotone quality  became gradually  tinged with anger and contempt towards that hypothetical someone. “I can't  say… I no longer feel anything on his side.  _It's all empty and cold…_ "a pause, the expression that appeared on his face was indefinable, despair, panic and  longing for something that was no longer there all mixed together for a single moment before they left his face. "So tell me, Detective, has anyone got their hands  in my twin already?" he then repeated the tone again in monotone even though Jim could clearly see that Jeremiah was disturbed by the thought.

"No, and nobody will." Jim answered, seeing no reason not to answer the boy. "We already know the cause of his death."

Jeremiah's gaze, still empty and dead, darkened. “Let's hope everyone got the memo then, because if any of you try to touch  him with your  filthy hands, I'll kill them.  Am I clear?" he said, tilting his head to the side, a frigid threatening smile on his lips and maybe it was the emptiness in his eyes that made that smile even more terrifying.

Jim gave no indication that he wanted to answer or react to his threat, even though he had to prevent himself from shivering at that icy smile, instead asking him his original question again.

"Even if I told you the truth you wouldn't believe me, Jimbo." Jeremiah said, instead of answering, and although his tone was almost monotonous again, there was a hint of resignation, something Jim had never heard in  the  Valeska's voice.

“You might be surprised. Tell me who did it. "

Jeremiah was silent, from his expression it was clear that  he didn't believe for a moment that he would believe his words. The Valeska looked down, for a moment, before looking up again and… in that moment, for a fraction of an instant his eyes were no longer so empty. “I'll answer your question. But I have a demand to make. "

"And what would that be?"

“I want to talk to _Brucie_. Bring me Bruce Wayne, Detective Gordon and you will have your answer. "

* * *

Bruce wasn't sure what he was feeling, there was too much confusion in his mind.

Everything had happened so fast, everything at the Gala had gone so wrong, so fast. One moment he thought that he might  even enjoy that evening and the next he was running after Selina, while the twins… The flow of his thoughts  was interrupted again by the same image, the same memory.

Jerome Valeska, the same one who had pressed a knife against his neck – _the wound was now bandaged and it burned and stung and at the same time reminded him of how useless it had been…_ once again.–, lying on the stage, choking on his own blood, with a knife in his throat that had also taken away the possibility of expressing his shock or his pain.

And Jeremiah Valeska, on the ground, blocked by Detective Gordon, screaming like his twin couldn't, eyes wide and terrified, shocked, full of so much despair that even Bruce couldn't help but cry for the man who had tried to kill him.

All while wondering if the expression on Jeremiah Valeska's face had also been his when his parents were murdered in front of him. Because Bruce remembered screaming, he remembered hoping they would wake up, he remembered having  his hands dirty with their blood.

_ Jeremiah Valeska hadn't even been able to hug his twin one last time. _

And Bruce couldn't help but feel guilty, because he had  _failed_.

Because even though he tried to push Jerome away when he noticed the knife in Galavan's hands, he couldn't change anything.

_ Jerome Valeska was dead and it was all his fault. Theo Galavan had stabbed Jerome to save him… if Bruce wasn't there, or if he was just a little stronger… _

_ Jeremiah wouldn't be mourning his twin now. _

"Absolutely not!" Alfred's voice, distant, pulled him out of his thoughts. Bruce walked over to the door to hear better. “This is your problem, Captain Gordon. I'm not going to let Bruce meet that psychopath. "

"Alfred?" Bruce said as he entered the room.  _If Jeremiah Valeska wanted to talk to him, after… after what had happened at the Gala, after what he hadn't been able to do. Bruce thought he owed him… at least that._

"It's just Captain Gordon, Bruce." he answered  his unspoken question as he pulled the phone away.

"Does he want to talk to me?"

For a moment Alfred didn't answer him, and Bruce knew it was because he wanted to protect him, but at the same time, he couldn't understand why. Or maybe he could understand  why but he didn't want to accept it, because he didn't feel he  _deserved_ it.

Alfred, after a sigh, replied affirmative. Bruce, having already decided his answer even before he  even heard Captain Gordon, asked him to hand him the phone, which Alfred did after a moment's hesitation and a whispered comment to the interlocutor on the other side, his voice too low so that Bruce  couldn’t understand what  he had said to him.

"Captain Gordon." he said, almost as a greeting, as soon as he received the phone, his voice was not as stable as he wanted, but at the moment Bruce wasn't sure if he could stabilize it even if he tried. "Does Jeremiah Valeska want to talk to me?"

"... Yes," the Captain replied, "Bruce, Jeremiah might know something important, but if you don't want to meet him,  _I understand_ …"

“No, no, I will. We will be there within the hour. " Bruce said, his voice more confident than it had been moments ago.

_ He could do it. He owed it to Jeremiah, for failing to save his twin. _

* * *

Everything Jeremiah felt was cold, but a cold that had nothing physical, nothing that could explain, nothing that could change, or  _fix_ in any way. Nothing that could be corrected in any way, because… half of his own soul was  _no longer there_ and he was alone.

Alone like he had never been before. And he hated how his instinct kept telling him like a broken record _that_ _Jerome was the only one who could make him feel better, that he just had to call Jerome, that he would fix everything…_

Even if he did, even if he called Jerome until he was voiceless, his twin wouldn't answer, he couldn't,  _no more._

Because Theo Galavan –traitor, liar,  who  had used them as if they were mere stupid puppets– had stuck a knife in his throat, killed him as if he were a  damned lamb.

And… and if Jeremiah closed his eyes, he could almost feel it, the ghost of a wound that wasn't his own, slicing through his jugular and the pressure on his trachea, and the cold…  _the cold that crawled down his limbs_ , stealing whatever  warmth that was left.

A tinkle brought him back to reality, Jeremiah opened his eyes, he hadn't even realized he had closed and only then did he register the slight pain in his wrists, he must have pulled the handcuffs, involuntarily while trying to put his hands to his throat, to stop blood that now no longer flowed.

_ It was all his fault. If only he had paid more attention to his foreboding than he had, if only he had remembered that damn detail earlier. If only he… he had been more careful, smarter… _

_ Jerome loved to tell him that he was the smartest of them, that he was always the one five steps ahead of everyone. He had always trusted his intuition and… Jeremiah had disappointed him,  he had let Jerome down, he had failed. _

_ He had let himself be fooled like an idiot. _

_ He had let himself be used. _

_ He had let that damned liar use them as he wanted. _

_He'd let_ _him take_ _his…_ everything _from him._

_ Why hadn't he killed him too? _

_ Why had he done this to him? _

_ He and his twin were two indivisible halves of the same being, what was he supposed to do alone? _

_ What could he  _ do _ alone? _

Footsteps interrupted the downward spiral of his thoughts, Jeremiah didn't even look up.

"Jimbo." he said, expecting to hear, the Detective answer him. Tell him he had to give him the information he wanted, that he wouldn't let him talk to Bruce.

_ Bruce Wayne. _

Their future victim.

_ Brucie. _

The  kid who tried to save Jerome.  _The kid who tried to do more for them than anyone_ _had_ _ever tried._

"You have ten minutes."

It was those words that made him look up, Bruce was there just inside the interrogation room, Jim behind him. The boy nodded at the Detective's words.

And then the two of them were 'alone', Jeremiah looked in the  one-way  mirror, he knew that the Detective would look at them from there, to make sure that he wouldn't try to hurt Bruce.

_ As if he would ever want to hurt the only person in the world who had tried to do something for him and his twin. _

_Yes,_ _he had failed but… at least he had tried._

Jeremiah looked back at Bruce, meeting his big blue eyes for a moment before his gaze shifted to the gauze on his neck. Jerome had left him that wound, Jeremiah hoped he would have a scar left, so that Bruce would remember his twin.

_ Someone had to remember Jerome, when he couldn't anymore. Because he had no illusion that he would survive long. Probably, as soon as he got to Arkham, somehow Theo would have him killed. _

"Hey, Brucie." he said, his voice softer than he wanted, too close to the tone he reserved only for Jerome, but he deserved it.  _Yes, he deserved it._

"Jeremiah." the  kid answered, sitting across from him, after a few more moments of silence. His big blue eyes were shiny, and Jeremiah could see the same emotions he had seen there after the Gala ended.

Jeremiah found himself fascinated once again, because… _when was the last time someone had_ _cried_ for _them and not_ because of _them?_

_ Was there ever a time in their life when someone had cried for them? _

_ He couldn't remember, and… he couldn't even ask Jerome if he remembered. _

"I failed. I… I'm so sorry, Jeremiah. I tried, when I saw… I tried but it wasn't enough. "

An involuntary, sad, indefinite smile curled Jeremiah's lips as he heard those words.

"But you  _tried_." Jeremiah found himself saying, his voice still soft. “You tried. No one has ever even tried before you. " he added, before pausing, waiting… waiting for  his thought, his sentence to be completed, but Jerome wasn't there to continue for him. “No one has ever tried to help us. You… you were the first,  _Brucie_. And yes… you didn't succeed, but… you tried. "

Bruce gave him a look, something Jeremiah couldn't understand. Because it wasn't anger, it wasn't pity, it wasn't anything he'd ever seen being addressed to him by anyone.

"I'm sorry no one has ever done that." Bruce's voice was soft, and low. And before Jeremiah  realized exactly what was going on, the kid had placed his hands on  his own and Jeremiah found himself instinctively pulling them back. Before Bruce tried to  _squeeze_ them… or put them in a vice with his,  _before he could hurt him_ …

Bruce pulled his hands back in turn, opening his eyes wide and more than that incomprehensible emotion showed up in his eyes. "I  don’t want to hurt you."

For a moment Jeremiah could only stare, hardly believing his words, but  _Bruce was the one who had tried to save Jerome…_

"You wouldn't be able to hurt me even if you tried, Brucie." he said to him, in response, as he put his hands back on the metal table.

“It doesn't matter, because I don't want to hurt you. _I promise._ "

A giggle, incredulous and involuntary, left his mouth, before Jeremiah could even think of stopping it. _He was too tired, too upset, half of his soul was no longer with him and his control was failing._ For his part, Bruce didn't seem frightened by his sudden laughter. “You know what, Bruce, I believe you. I believe you when you say…  _that_.  _I believe you_."

Bruce gave him a small, tentative smile and Jeremiah found himself reciprocating and when Bruce's hands returned to  his, this time he didn't flinch.  His touch so kind, no one had ever been kind to him outside of his Jerome.

"On  the stage. Why did you… why did you try to save Jerome?" he asked him,  because he needed to know the answer.  _Why had he done it? Why had he tried to save the person who was trying to kill him? What was wrong with Bruce Wayne?_

"Because it was the right thing to do." the boy answered, and Jeremiah  didn’t  doubt for a moment that he was telling the truth.

Maybe there was nothing wrong with Bruce Wayne, maybe he was the only right person in a  world that was completely wrong.

"And… would you do it again? If this whole night were repeated all over, would you still try to save him? "

"Obviously." Bruce answered. His expression, still indefinable for Jeremiah, but there was something, as if Bruce thought that was the obvious answer, as for him there was no other possibility.

And Jeremiah found himself, despite  his own bitterness, believing him. A thought suddenly occurred in his mind: ' _Jerome would have been so happy to discover that someone would have really tried to save them_ '.  _Because his twin was the one he never stopped hoping, Jeremiah… Jeremiah had stopped believing in heroes when he and Jerome were still children._

_ But maybe he… maybe he found one. _

_ A hero. _

_ Jeremiah wanted to keep Bruce Wayne to himself so  that the world didn’t have a chance to ruin him. Because he tried to save his twin, Bruce deserved his protection and Jeremiah was sure Jerome would agree with him if he could. _

"Our time is running out." Jeremiah said, Bruce's hands, warm and gentle, squeezed his just a bit, but in a way so soft that Jeremiah didn't even think for a moment to pull his hands away. “And I promised I would tell you who helped us. Sure, the cops probably won't believe me and I'll die anyway, but…"

"’You’ll die anyway’?" Bruce asked, there was something so horrified and shocked in his tone that Jeremiah couldn't hold back a chuckle at his expense.

"Yes, it's not as if anyone will realize it when I'm gone, the only person who cared about me…  _is dead._ "

“I would notice. I care." Bruce said, that determined light burning in his eyes again. "You don’t believe me." he then said, noticing his gaze. "It doesn't matter, I… I'm going to visit you in Arkham and that's a promise, Jeremiah."

"All right." Jeremiah accepted after a single moment of silence, while he tried to keep his voice steady, not to let the emotion break  it.

_ Jeremiah wanted Jerome to be here to hear these words, this promise with him. _

“I will come to visit you tomorrow. Arkham can't refuse me, my family funded the reopening and if I have use that as leverage to see you then _I'll do it_. "

Another smile curled Jeremiah's lips. "Okay, Brucie, we'll see each other again tomorrow, if… I'm still alive to be able to."

Bruce said nothing, but the way he held his hands in his changed, becoming slightly  softer, slightly more comforting. And Jeremiah was happy to have at least one good memory for when Theo's hit men came to kill him. And if an afterlife existed, as soon as he and Jerome were reunited he would tell him all about Bruce's sweetness and attention, about how special and heroic he had been.

"The person who organized the escape and who gave me and my twin the means to do everything we did, the man who told us to kill you was at the Gala." Jeremiah said. “You probably missed his speech, since you were hiding in the basement, but if you look at the footage you will see how happy he was to introduce himself, _the damned traitor_. And I don't know if you'll believe me, but… I'll tell you anyway. " Jeremiah took Bruce's hands between his, holding them as he would have held Jerome's, strong but careful, _perhaps just a little too possessive for someone who wasn't them._ “Theo Galavan is not what he seems to be, Brucie. He wants to kill you, I don't know why, I don't know what he wants to achieve by doing it but that's what he wants. Be careful, Brucie… okay? _Be careful._ "

Bruce met his gaze. "I will. And…  _I believe you, Jeremiah._ I believe you."

And Bruce was the first who believed him, outside of Jerome, the first who had believed his words so blindly even when he had no  evidence to backup his claims.

Jeremiah opened his mouth to say something else,  reiterate that Bruce had to be careful, but at that moment the Detective arrived.

"Bruce." he and also another figure behind him said,  Jeremiah supposed that had to be Bruce's butler.

Bruce continued to meet his gaze for a long moment, letting Jeremiah hold his hands.  _And Jeremiah really hated the world because this was a goodbye, because he was alone to receive something remotely similar to another person's affection and Jerome could not share the moment with him._

"I'll visit you tomorrow, Jeremiah." Bruce said, as he stood up, Jeremiah let go of his hands.

"It's  a  _see you tomorrow_ then, Brucie."

_It isn’t_. Jeremiah was sure  that this wasn’t a ‘see you soon’ kind of deal.  _Bruce would never see him again, but in a way he was fine with it. Jeremiah just wanted to be reunited with his brother. He already had so much to tell him._

"See you tomorrow, Jeremiah." Bruce gave him a small smile, and Jeremiah could already see the tears on his face.

_ When was the last time someone had cried for them? _

The question came back insistently, Jeremiah still had no answer.

His gaze remained on Bruce's until the boy left the room.

A few minutes later, the Detective returned, and there was something different in his eyes, they were softer, less cold. It was as if Bruce brought out the best in everyone.

"I guess the name you gave Bruce is the same you'd give me?"  he asked

Jeremiah nodded “It is,  you can choose to believe me or not, Jimbo, I don’t care.  Just know I would never lie to Brucie. "

Jim nodded, placing a tape recorder on the table. “Then imagine he's here, Jeremiah. And tell me everything you know. "

Jeremiah closed his eyes, in his mind the image of blue eyes and green eyes identical to his, and with the ghost of a stab in the throat and the  sweeter one of Bruce's hands between  his own.  When Jeremiah spoke.

_ He told the truth. _


	20. Chapter XIX: Back in Arkham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah is resigned that he is going to die, he wants to join his twin, the first attempt doesn’t make him wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Warning: Jeremiah is in a really bad place mentally in this chapter(and the following to be honest), so things are gonna get... darker.

Arkham Asylum was a horrible place, even more than Jim remembered it was the last time he'd seen it when he worked there as a guard. But it was also where a person like Jeremiah Valeska belonged. Where he would be helped… _as much as possible._

The boy followed him more or less meekly from the police car to the entrance to the asylum, and Jim really didn't even know why he had decided to take him there personally instead of letting it be his colleagues, or the guards of the asylum themselves.

No, maybe he knew and the reason was: Bruce and that question he had asked him, in tears as Alfred hugged him after leaving the interrogation room, ' _Why does Jeremiah think he is going to die?_ '; and if Bruce hadn't directly asked him to make sure the Valeska was safe at least until he got to Arkham, Jim had decided to do it anyway.

Bruce was also the reason why he had decided to consider the Valeska's confession, because  it was really strange, almost absurd that the boy confessed that it was the same man who had killed his twin who had helped them. And if there was one part of him that believed Jeremiah's words, if only because he didn't think the boy was capable of lying right now, there was another, the more logical part that reminded him as the twins. they had already fooled him twice, telling him that the Valeska was just trying to frame the man who had killed his twin to get his revenge.

Jim managed to get out of his thoughts as they entered the Asylum lobby where an armed escort of four men awaited them, one of whom Jim would have recognized anywhere, as he had spent several days questioning him, Jongleur Palmer seemed to have resumed his place as Arkham security guard.

" _Detective Gordon._ " the guard said, almost like a formal greeting, and Jim couldn't explain why but it irritated him, there was something in Palmer's tone that made his words seem almost like a mockery at his expense.

"It's Captain now."

“Oh, sorry then. _Captain Gordon,_ "once again there was an inflection in his tone that irritated Jim" you can leave the patient with us. "

Jeremiah,  after a gesture from him, went to the guards, but before reaching them he turned to him. "Find our  diaries, Jimbo." and after those words Jeremiah Valeska and the escort of guards disappeared into one of the corridors of the Asylum.

Jeremiah's words repeated over and over  in his thoughts  as he left the Asylum and returned to the department.

_ Perhaps asking for that search warrant for Theo Galavan's penthouse would have been the only way to allay his doubts. _

* * *

Jeremiah felt like he was stuck in a memory as he followed Jongleur –who at least had been hired again, another little piece of familiarity, in a place he felt familiar and not at the same time– and  the other guards down the corridors he had crossed some time before, taking him to that same room that looked almost like a  locker room.

Jeremiah moved automatically, listening to the instructions of the two women at the desk.

_ Arkham didn't look like it had been the first time he was there, yes it was always depressing and cold and wet, but it almost felt more oppressive. _

Everything around him made him feel as if he were in a memory, distorted and horrible because there was no one at his side. Because his twin wasn't doing the same things as him,  he wasn't there with him.

And when one of the women at the desk called only his name, for a single moment Jeremiah thought he felt something  _crack_ inside him, which made him aware again of the cold emptiness he felt in his chest where he once felt warmth, almost the beat of his twin synchronized with his… now there was  _nothing_.

Jeremiah held back a shiver, not wanting to show any weakness to any of those present, but not being able to ignore that emptiness, nor the feeling of  cold it caused, not now that it had been brought to his attention.

Not without the warmth of Bruce's hands on  his own to distract him from the  cold that was spreading through his body, more and more, more and more. As if the  freezing specter of death had begun to follow him everywhere, perhaps he wouldn't even have to wait for Theo's hit men to be reunited with his twin.

_ Maybe he was already dying, their souls wanting to rejoin, though in his case it was happening slower than it had at his Jerome. _

The image, the memory, of Theo, of the traitor, who plunged a knife into the throat of his twin that reappeared in his mind.

Jeremiah clenched his hands into fists, absentmindedly noticed a guard put their hand on the taser, before Jongleur stopped them, but despite having registered that movement Jeremiah did not react too much to it, trapped in the memory, so recent, _had really passed only a few hours from the Gala?_

_ To  Jeremiah  it felt like it had happen a lifetime ago, every hour seemed to stretch into an eternity. _

_ He and Jerome shouldn't have been apart. _

_ If one lived, the other  did too. _

_ If one of them had died so  had the other. _

_ They weren't meant to survive  alone. _

_ No. _

He and Jerome had promised that as well as the first they would breathe their last  breath together. But they couldn't, and every single new breath that left his lungs filled him with guilt.  _Because he was still alive, because he was walking in the corridors of Arkham while his twin was left alone, lying on a refrigerated sheet of steel, waiting for someone to decide what to do with him._

Jeremiah doubted they would ask his opinion even if he was the only family member alive, besides…  _Zach_. Jeremiah stopped abruptly as the thought came to his mind.

_ No. _

_ No. _

_ No, no, no! Zach couldn't have Jerome's body. No! _

"Valeska, move!" said the guard behind him, it wasn't Jongleur it was someone else, but Jeremiah couldn't care, not while a hideous, vile image appeared in his mind.

_No_ .

But that image, horrible, disgusting, impossible… – _because they certainly wouldn't have left_ _him Jerome’s_ _body, they would have taken him where he should_ _be, right? They wouldn't leave his twin in the hands of that vile, disgusting being who didn't even deserve to be called human,_ _right_?– didn't want to leave him, repeating  itself again and again.

While the cold emptiness became stronger and stronger, more and more evident.

Jeremiah felt the beginning of a scream  remain stuck in his throat, as the corridor around him seemed to fade into the narrow, icy confines of an industrial fridge, the freezing cold clinging to him, dry and scratchy, the heat of his body seeming fading more and more and he could not move,  _he couldn’t_ , his blood that seemed to have thickened to the point that even moving his eyes, which he could hardly even  feel and  didn’t want to close in order not to remain completely defenseless, was a huge fatigue.

A voice in the back of his mind, amidst his confused thoughts, repeating that none of this was real,  _that he wasn't there, and that he wasn't seeing anything he thought he saw. Zach wasn't there, Jerome wasn't there, Jerome was safe from that monster._ _He wasn’t seeing what he believed he was seeing, none of this was real. Jerome was safe._

_ Jerome was safe. _

_ Safe. _

_ In a morgue, in the police department. And Gordon had said that no one would dissect him, that no one would hurt him. _

_ Not that Jerome could  feel it anymore… if they hurt him. _

A thought seeped into his confusion, the faded contours of the industrial fridge returning to the dull, murky yellow of Arkham's corridor walls, _even if Jerome couldn't_ _feel_ _it... would_ he _feel_ _it?_

_ If any of the forensic doctors in the department started cutting, and opening… Would Jeremiah feel it? Would he feel the sting of a clean cut on his skin? _

_ Or not? _

"Jeremiah? Can you hear me?"

The reality, sad and gray and suffocating but less horrid and macabre than his thoughts, came back into focus, Jongleur was there, in front of him. If Jeremiah hadn't already known that besides Jerome, and, perhaps, Bruce no one cared about him, he would have thought there was concern in the guard's eyes.

Jeremiah just nodded, the guard  nodded back,  slowly.

"Come on then, we're almost there." he said as he motioned for the other guards to resume moving. But before turning he gave him another look, but once again Jeremiah could not decipher the emotion hidden in his eyes.

.

.

His cell was exactly as he remembered it, small and cold, shrouded in total darkness since it was already the ' _lights out_ ' time, so dark that he could not even see the scratches on the wall near the window.

Those scratches of which he did not know the origin, but he remembered having theorized it with Jerome. Of the  man-bat who had been locked up in that cell before him, according to his twin.

For a moment Jeremiah smiled as the memory of Jerome's laughter echoed around him, before reality reached him again and tore his smile away.

Jeremiah sat down by the  grate that connected his cell to what had been Jerome's cell, letting the  damp cold of the asylum reach him, crossing the practically void barrier of his uniform,  that was too light for the temperature.

Even then, the physical, real cold he felt was nothing compared to what he felt inside.

Jeremiah closed his eyes, hoping not to have to reopen them, to just be able to reunite with his twin.

_ Beep. _

_ Clank. _

Jeremiah opened his eyes with a click, while the door to his cell opened with a prolonged creak, a shadow darker than the rest in front of the threshold.

_ They weren’t a guard. _

_ Jeremiah was sure  they weren’t a guard. _

Whoever had entered his cell  didn’t realize he  wasn’t on the cot, continuing to advance into the dark, dark cell, muttering something under  their breath.

A shimmer, the too sharp, curved blade of a karambit  knife, like  his karambit, one  of those that Theo's sister loved to use, caught his attention. The  grip of the figure was all wrong, Jeremiah could have snatched it from  them easily, he could have killed  them.

_ He could have slit  his own throat and finally rejoined Jerome. _

With that thought in mind, Jeremiah  struck like a snake, pushing the figure as he snatched the karambit from their hand. The other  inmate, imposing but far less prepared and trained than Jeremiah, stumbled and fell to the ground like a marionette abandoned by the bored puppeteer.

With a smile, Jeremiah adjusted his grip, and pressed the sharp blade to the figure's neck,  then something went wrong, because the inmate managed to block his wrist, dazed from the impact with the ground but still sharp enough, the person pushed Jeremiah, again and again till their position were inverted.

The figure over him snarling something about ‘ _voices_ ’ and ‘ _he promised_ ’ and ‘ _kill the Red_ ’, Jeremiah fought back till he realized that he could still get what he wanted if he just let the figure to kill him.

As soon as he let the karambit knife go, the other inmate took it, putting the curved blade against his neck.

The image of Jerome lying on the stage, gasping as blood filled his throat and mouth, appeared again in his mind.

Jeremiah wondered what his  own reaction would be to feeling his own blood fill his throat and then his mouth, _he had no idea._

_ Oh, well, he would soon find out. _

  
He just had to wait, the pressure of the blade increased and increased. Just a flick of the wrist and Jeremiah would join his twin. Just one little movement and he and Jerome would be together again, maybe not physically, but they’d be dead together. Rotting together as they should.

Jeremiah closed his eyes, a smile on his lips.

The lights outside his cell went on and before the Valeska realized what was happening five guards entered his cell, two guards immediately pushed the inmate above him away, but they hadn’t acted swiftly enough. 

Jeremiah felt the sting even before his own blood started flowing out of the cut, the idiot had cut the wrong vein,  where the blood flow was low,  and the cut wasn’t deep enough to let it gush out, he’d have to slowly bleed out.

_ This wasn’t what he had envisioned for his death. _

His body screaming at him to fight and try to survive, but Jeremiah didn't want to. This was what he wanted.  _Return to Jerome._

_ And even though he had to suffer to get what he wanted, he didn't care. _

He involuntarily coughed around the blood that was pooling in his mouth, the pain of the cut becoming both more pressing and distant as his attention blurred.

Three of the guards approached him, Jeremiah  felt them lift him  even though the feeling was distant and confused at best.

Before he closed his eyes, hoping that this time he would never open them again, he noticed that one of them had a token hanging from their wrist,  snug against their uniform he wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t been this close, on the round  metal  tag  were impressed two menacing,  black  eyes and a red smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always thought that the Cult had started forming since the video of the Massacre of the GCPD, so by the time the Gala happened (which should be like two weeks after) the Cult was already there, Jerome's death just made them decide to act.


	21. Chapter XX: I promised we’d meet again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce goes to visit Jeremiah in Arkham just to discover that the redhead had almost died as soon as he went back in the Asylum. Bruce doesn’t like that _not even a bit_.

Bruce had hardly been able to sleep that night. Concern and agitation that made him too restless to abandon himself in Morpheus's arms, Jeremiah's words echoing in his thoughts.

_ His certainty that he would not see another sunrise, and how resigned he was, almost relieved by the prospect. _

_ How could  he have been so calm about  his own death? _

_ Why was he so sure? _

And then the  his tone when he said that ' _be careful_ ', there  had been so much emotion in his voice.  _Real concern_ had shone in his eyes softening them to the point that they didn’t even look like the eyes of the boy that had brought him to his twin, following another man’s plan to have him killed.

Now, in light of what Jeremiah had told him, the way Theo Galavan had immediately approached him, after murdering Jerome, to talk to him, to ' _make sure he was okay_ ' had taken on a completely different, slimy tone, and  tinted with a hint of something worring because of the way his gaze had stayed all the time on the cut Jerome had left on his throat. And the worst part was that if it weren't for Jeremiah, Bruce was sure he would believe the man was completely sincere.

When the sun had risen, indicating the start of a new day, Bruce had already been awake for a while, forcing himself to slow down as he got ready, there was probably some  kind of  schedule for Arkham visits and it certainly couldn't match  with  the first light of dawn.

Yet as much as Bruce said  himself that he had to be patient ,  _he couldn't_ , not when Jeremiah was so sure he wouldn't see the dawn. He had to be able to see the dawn,  _he had to_ .

_ Because he had failed to save Jerome, he couldn't let Jeremiah down too, letting something terrible happen to him too. _

The rest of the hours that he had had to wait and that separated him from the visit he had promised to Jeremiah, mingled together, progressing fast and indistinct and at the same time too slow  trickling like honey down a spoon .

Alfred protested at first  because he couldn't believe that he really wanted to go and meet Jeremiah in Arkham, Bruce didn't blame him, his guardian just wanted to protect him, but Bruce also knew he had to.

_ He had to, because he had promised it to  Jeremiah. _

_ He had to, because when he promised  him , even though the older boy didn't believe him at first, a small and fragile and hopeful smile had folded his lips. _

_ He had to, because Jeremiah had told him that no one had ever cared about him and his twin. _

_He had to, because Jeremiah had reminded him of Selina, a confident and contemptuous_ _facade_ _that hid a person who was neither so selfish nor so cruel._

_ Because Jeremiah had taken  his hands in his  own with so much care, while telling him to 'be careful' and there was so much concern in his eyes. Worry that shouldn't have been there, because Jerome had died because of him, had died because Theo Galavan, for some reason, wanted him dead. _

Bruce almost did not realize that they had arrived at the Asylum he was so immersed in his thoughts, but as soon as he realized it his attention focused completely on the present.

_ He had a promise to keep. _

.

.

As soon as he got inside Arkham Asylum, Bruce realized that there was something wrong with that building. He didn't know what, but nothing in the general aura, even of  just  the building's lobby, gave him the feeling that this was a place where people were healed.

_ Quite the contrary. _

Bruce walked towards the receptionist, Alfred who followed him beside him, the man  didn’t even look up.

"I'm Bruce Wayne." Bruce began, trying to keep his tone neutral even though he was irritated by the total lack of courtesy. The receptionist then looked up, appearing amazed that he was there. "I'm here to visit Jeremiah Valeska."

"It's not possible, Mister Wayne." the receptionist replied, after quickly checking something on the terminal on his desk.

"W-What?  Why ?" Bruce asked, his voice less steady than before. He promised Jeremiah they would meet again, he promised.

_ Jeremiah had been so sure he wouldn't have another sunrise. _

The receptionist looked at him for a moment, as if he couldn't understand why he seemed so upset by his response.

" Why ?" Bruce repeated, his voice just slightly louder than  before , as he walked a couple of steps to the receptionist's desk, but the man  didn’t reply by saying something about ' _how he could not divulge information to_ _someone that wasn’t a relative to the patient_ '. Bruce took another half step. "It's my family that finances Arkham." he said, ignoring the veiled look of disapproval Alfred gave him, seeing him use these methods. "I want to know why I can't visit Jeremiah Valeska."

"He was attacked by another patient yesterday and he has not woken up yet."

_ Jeremiah was so sure he wouldn't see the sunrise. _

_ Someone had attacked him as soon as he returned to Arkham. _

"I want to see  him ."

* * *

Jeremiah was pretty sure he wasn't dead, if only because he was still alone.

And if he died he wouldn't be alone, because he and Jerome would finally be reunited.

So the idiot must have failed. Not only had  they been discovered,  they hadn't even been able to kill him.

Jeremiah didn't know whether  or not  to be offended that Theo had ‘ hired’ such an incapable man to take him out.

It took him a few moments to realize that he was definitely alive, he clearly felt the bandages around his neck and the wound burn and sting. Jeremiah hoped they didn't have to stitch  it and that if the wound ever left a scar that was small, just where the tip of the karambit  knife  had cut. So that he could at least have a mirrored scar  of the wound that had been fatal to his twin.

He and Jerome had always tried to maintain their similarity, to be so chameleonic with each other, to the point that even for themselves  sometimes, it  was be difficult to recognize the differences.

That is why every time Jerome was hurt by their tormentors in a way that left a mark, Jeremiah imitated  it on himself, and vice versa. And even if the scars weren't identical, it was enough for them.

He really hoped that if the wound he had now in his neck should leave a scar that was at least similar to the wound  that had taken Jerome from him.

Not that the boy had any hope of living long enough to see if a possible scar would look like it.  _He doubted that Theo would hire another incapable of that caliber after this failure._

And if he did, it would have been worse for him, because if he had to survive without his twin, then he would have made sure to make Theo Galavan's life hell before killing him. And then he would take his heart to his twin's tombstone, as long as they decided to bury him with a minimum of respect, for what he knew they could also decide not to have to spend as much on someone who in their eyes was just a psychotic criminal.

_And maybe they were, psychotic, maybe they weren't as sane as Jeremiah had always believed. But did it really matter? No, he didn't mind being_ _sane_ _or insane as long as he had his twin to share his every moment with._

_ But now? Now he no longer had anyone. _

_ He was alone. _

With only the empty cold to keep him company, his heart beating an asynchronous symphony that lacked a companion.  An aborted sonata, that would never be harmonious again.

Lila was probably laughing in whatever hellish abyss  she had ended, laughing at their misfortune and their suffering,  _the bitch_ . Jeremiah almost wished she was still alive so he could kill her again and again and again and  _again_ .

A hand, slightly smaller and more delicate than his, softer that had not been marked by any fatigue, rested on one of his. Alarmed, Jeremiah snapped his eyes open at the sensation, then almost closed them again with a hiss when the neon light made them  sting , if only just.

It took him a few moments to focus on the person who was with him, sitting in an uncomfortable chair next to the bed he was currently  laying on , Bruce Wayne.  _Brucie_ .

_He couldn't be there, right? How could_ _he_ _be there?_

Bruce seemed almost surprised, but positively, like he was worried about him. "Hey, Jeremiah." he said, his voice lower than a whisper. He looked so relieved and Jeremiah couldn't remember ever seeing anyone so happy that he was okay except Jerome. "I promised you I'd come to see you today."

Jeremiah just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, not wanting to try his luck, he remembered reading somewhere that talking after a throat injury could ruin his vocal cords and he really didn't want to risk it, although maybe he didn't have to worry about it.

_ If he was already conscious it couldn't have been that bad. _

Bruce gave him a smile, small and reserved, which however disappeared when he spoke again: "Unfortunately, I can't stay long…  To be perfectly honest with you , I shouldn't even be here… visitors shouldn't enter the actual  structure . And for this,  for the fact that my visit will have to be a short one, I'm sorry. " a little pause "I'll be back to visit you again though, and  _that's a promise_ ."

Jeremiah gave the other a small smile, a little melancholy, a little bit actually touched by the promise. Bruce gave him a look full of determination, and slightly tightened his grip on his hand, always remaining careful not to squeeze it too much.

“Don't worry, no one can harm you any more. I asked them to transfer you to another, safer wing,” Bruce said, and if Jeremiah believed his words and his promise, he doubted Arkham really had a wing that was safe enough where Theo could not reach him if he had wanted. Bruce continued, “I trusted Arkham once, I won't do it again. Especially not after seeing… what happened. _I failed once, I won't do it again._ " and by the way his voice had dropped Jeremiah was pretty sure Bruce didn't want him to hear that last sentence.

And Jeremiah had to admit that he was almost happy to see Bruce feel guilty, not because he wanted Brucie to suffer, but because  that meant that Bruce didn't just consider him, but Jerome too.

Bruce looked away for a moment, Jongleur had just crossed the threshold of the infirmary,  there  was a metallic glint on the sleeve of his uniform,  one that Jeremiah was sure had never been there before ,  _another token? Like what he had seen before he passed out?_

"I have to go. But I promise you I'll come and see you soon."

Jeremiah's attention returned to Bruce, as he let go of his hand to get closer to the guard, taking away the bit of  warmth that  his touch brought him, that little bit of warmth that  could distract him from the  cold void in his chest.

_ Jeremiah had no doubt that Bruce would. _


	22. Chapter XXI: Trust is a strange thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the days go by and with them Bruce’s visits, the young Wayne starts trusting Jeremiah more and more, maybe even _too much_.

For the next two weeks since his first visit, during his recovery, Bruce's brief visits had been almost daily.

Bruce arrived in the infirmary accompanied by Jongleur in the morning just before nine and stayed with him for about ten minutes, sometimes trying to increase the time available to them by relying on the fact that Arkham was practically kept running for the most part with funds from the Wayne’s family funds.

Jeremiah couldn't help but smile, just slightly sinister, when he thought of that. Remembering the fact that the first few times Bruce had been hesitant to use the power he had thanks to that, but as the days passed, it had come more and more easy and  _natural_.  _Without saying anything, without asking for anything, Jeremiah had managed to initiate the slow and inexorable corruption of Bruce Wayne._

_Sure, Bruce could be a hero. Could be the only right person in a completely wrong world._

_ But Jeremiah didn't want his golden heart to lead him to try to help others, he didn't want anyone to take Bruce away from him. _

_ Not when Bruce was the only one who ever cared about them, the only one who kept a promise he made them. _

_ Not when Bruce was the only one who could make him feel alive. The warmth of his delicate touches, the only thing capable of slowing the increasingly rampant cold that wanted to take possession of his body. _

When Bruce was with him, Jeremiah was able to distract himself from that sense of complete solitude, from the deafening silence that surrounded him every day.

And that was why, why he wanted to keep Brucie to himself, if Jerome had been with him –if Theo hadn't killed him– then they would have kept him to themselves, that he had started to think of a plan to slowly corrupt Brucie, make him more like himself, and his twin, so that he could slip into place like a new piece of that little puzzle different from the rest that Jeremiah and Jerome Valeska were…  _so that someone else could understand that sense of loss, of incompleteness that Jeremiah felt._

Even though he knew that even if he did, Bruce would never hear it with his own, awful clarity.

After his recovery, resulting in his transfer to his new cell –which was in the wing intended for level one patients and which had semi-regular patrols of guards and cameras working– the visits had changed from daily to one every two days.

Not that the visits had decreased by Bruce’s will, but as a Gotham's socialite and Beloved Son of the city he could not allow the media to notice his frequent visits to the Arkham Asylum.

Jeremiah was almost annoyed that Brucie had to keep their friendship a secret, but at the same time he wasn't. Because it would have been more surprising when they would have revealed it.

_ Uh, maybe Jeremiah would arrange for them to reveal it after he took his revenge on Galavan. Perhaps he would have tried, covertly, to imply Bruce's complicity… _

_After all, if Bruce ended up in Arkham, neither Jimbo nor Alfred, Brucie's butler, could any longer try to convince him not to visit Jeremiah again._

.

.

_ Jeremiah couldn't move, he couldn't see. Everything was cold and incredibly dark. _

_ And even with the fear he felt growing in his chest, he couldn't even feel his own heartbeat, he couldn't breathe. _

_ And it was all so, so cold. _

_ An indistinct frozen darkness that completely enveloped him. And he was just completely alone and he couldn't even scream. _

_ Not even calling Jerome, if he could, would have helped him in any way, because Jerome couldn't help him. _

_ Not anymore. _

_ Not anymore. _

_ The chill grew even more intense as if he were trapped in a freezer, ice on his skin, a thin sheen he couldn't break because he couldn't move. _

_ His body not responding to any signal, any attempt by him. _

_ Fear of him grew, and grew. But he couldn't hear his own heartbeat… _

_ Why couldn't he hear it? _

_ Why was his body so cold and stiff and numb? _

_Why?_

_ What was happening? _

_The cold deepened again and again._

_And before it got too much,_ Jeremiah woke up with a gasp, the faint choked sound, muffled by cries coming from some other cell, their sound muffled only just by the metal door of his new cell.

Jeremiah focused on that sound, which he had learned to recognize  in the past three nights. It was the voice of  _Jon_ , Jonathan Crane.

Jeremiah didn't know much about him, only what the guards –the ones with the token on their wrist, only they voluntarily answered his questions– had told him:  _that Jonathan was an orphan, just like him, that his father, Doctor Gerard Crane, had injected him with something that had reduced him to this state of perpetual terror and that the Director of Arkham, Dr. Hugo Strange, was his therapist._

And as little as it was, Jeremiah was more than curious to get to know Jonathan a little better. Maybe today if he was lucky as he appeared to be having one of his seizures, they would sedate him enough to take him into the common room –which Jeremiah, despite being a level three patient, had access to thanks to Bruce's concessions– and he would have the opportunity to talk to him.

If only to spend some of his time between Bruce's visits, and arranging his next escape from Arkham so he could make Theo pay, _the bastard would have regretted betraying them, and making such a bad job of trying to get him killed._

With a sigh annoyed  from that strange nightmare had woken him up, and  knowing that he could not go back to sleep, not without Jerome's reassurance…  _but Jerome could no longer reassure and calm him after a nightmare with his presence_ , Jeremiah stood up, looking outside the barred window trying to figure out more or less what time it was.

The sky beyond the rusted grille that covered the window, albeit shrouded in Gotham's perpetual  grayness , was starting to lighten, so the sun was about to come up soon.

_Another_ _sunrise._

_ Another day when he lived without his other half by his side. _

Jeremiah turned away from the window, his gaze focused on the metal door, Jonathan's screams had calmed down, perhaps the guards had sedated him… even though Jeremiah didn't remember hearing anyone walking down the hall. Maybe Jonathan had managed to calm down on his own, or had lost his voice.

Jeremiah hoped the latter  wasn’t the option. It would have been boring trying to talk to someone who couldn't answer him and he really needed to do something today, since Bruce wasn't coming to visit him.

Or so,  the  Valeska thought.

* * *

Bruce knew it was too early, he also knew that Jeremiah wasn't expecting him, he knew that showing up so suddenly after they had created a routine for his visits was not a good thing.

But he couldn't wait, he had to meet him.  _Now_.

_He needed to talk to someone he trusted, someone who would give him_ _their_ _opinion,_ _help him decide, even if in doing something not conventional._

Bruce wasn't even sure when he had begun to trust Jeremiah, perhaps in those weeks as the older boy recovered from the wound that had nearly killed him. Maybe later.

Or maybe it had happened in that moment when he had met him after the Gala, when Jeremiah had asked him why he had tried to save Jerome and if he would do it again.

Perhaps  he had begun to trust him the moment  he decided to believe his words.

The door to the  visit room, the one that led to the inside of the structure, opened, Jongleur –one of the guards of the escort who was monitoring patients like Jeremiah– and Jeremiah entered the room.

Jeremiah's gaze filled with surprise at seeing him, his expression remained neutral instead, with that semi-perpetual hint of a half-smile.  _Once again Bruce wondered if Jeremiah was_ _even_ _aware of the half-smile that was always folding his lips, or if he was so used to it that he didn't_.

"Hey, Brucie," Jeremiah greeted as he took his seat after Jongleur left the room. “I didn't think we would see each other today. Isn't it tomorrow that the two days would pass? "

Bruce nodded to the other's question. "Yes… I know it's too early for my visit, but I needed to talk to someone, Miah."

Jeremiah's gaze snapped into him, as he did every time he called him ' _Miah_ ', and his half-smile disappeared, but if his face was empty of any emotion in his eyes Bruce could see that he was worried. "Did something happen, Bruce?"

Bruce nodded once more. "It's Galavan-"

His words were interrupted by a tinkle of chains, Jeremiah's hands, locked to the table by a metal ring that locked his handcuffs, were closed into fists. His eyes burned with anger and his expression was no longer so neutral, stuck in an angry half  snarl .

“What did the bastard do? If he tried to touch you, I’ll break his neck. He has already taken Jerome away from me. _I will not let him take you away too,_ " the Valeska growled.

And Bruce knew he should have been intimidated by that aggression of the other, by how quickly he was ready to take a life. But at the same time he wasn't, because Jeremiah wanted to protect him, this, this reaction was because he wanted to protect him.

"It's okay, Miah -"

"No, it's not ‘ okay’ if that -"

"-Everything is alright. He didn't do anything.” Bruce cut him off, finding himself having to stop mid-movement when he noticed that he instinctively tried to put his hands on Jeremiah's in a gesture of comfort. “Not yet at least. But  his niece, do you remember the girl I told you about in my last visits? "

Jeremiah took a small breath, probably to calm himself, before nodding. "Yes, Silver, if I remember correctly."

Bruce nodded. "Silver invited me to a dinner with her family and… I'd like to,  _I'd really like to refuse…_ "  his voice faded into silence, but the other boy got what he was too hesitant to say.

“But you can't because it would reflect badly on you and your family name if you did, right? Because he _saved_ you at the Gala "Jeremiah completed for him, his voice recovering some of that growl as he finished speaking. "But you could still be safe… if it's something public, Theo is a lot of things, but he's not an idiot, he wouldn't hurt you if he knew it could reflect badly on him."

"It’s not public,  it’s  in their penthouse." Bruce answered. Jeremiah's gaze became distant, even though it was still focused on him, and Bruce had to stifle again the instinct to try to comfort him, because that look meant that he was remembering something, that he was thinking about  _Jerome._

"If you can't help it… then make it public." Jeremiah said, after a few moments of silence. "Thank him for the invitation to some event before  the dinner, or if that's not possible, tell Jimbo, that cop may not believe me, but he wouldn't risk your life. Tell him you don't feel safe, that you don't trust Theo… make sure there's someone there for you. "

Bruce nodded, the need to comfort Jeremiah growing and growing as he watched the worry grow in his expression, in his voice. "I'll do both… There is an event before the dinner, since Galavan was elected Mayor and after the event I'll tell Jim."

“Good, Brucie. Cover all the bases." he told him with a small smile, which disappeared when he continued, replaced instead by an almost empty expression and anger that burned in his eyes. "Don't let that bastard have a single chance to try to hurt you, because he thinks _you trust him_."

“I would never trust Galavan. No matter how much Silver tries to convince me… a good man would never use someone for his plans and above all he would never kill someone to get what he wants. "

A smile curled Jeremiah's lips, cold and cruel, before a laugh left his lips. Bruce didn't even shudder accustomed to the reaction his determination caused to Jeremiah.

"Jerome and I killed our mother and father, Brucie." Jeremiah reminded him, his voice too cheerful for what he was saying.

And Bruce knew this was just a test from Jeremiah, one of many of him. Jeremiah had barricaded himself behind so many walls to protect himself from the world, and Jerome had probably been exactly like him, and occasionally tested him.  Wanting to see if he could scare him  away or not.

So Bruce was not intimidated and met Jeremiah's cold, distant gaze.

"I know," he said. “And while I don't agree, you and Jerome had your reasons. You did the wrong thing, yes, but your reason…  _it was perfectly understandable._ "

The darkness left Jeremiah's gaze who smiled at him.

"Careful, Brucie." Jeremiah said, his tone light again. "People may begin to think you sympathize with us."

Bruce shrugged. " _People_ can think what they want, I don't care." he said, his tone as nonchalant as possible, as if their opinion didn't really matter  to him.

Jeremiah's smile grew and grew, before becoming a laugh, much more amused than the previous one. Bruce smiled.

The rest of his visit, the last three minutes available to them, were not marked by anything in particular. Just him and Jeremiah talking.

Not for a moment, as he left Arkham after the visit, did Bruce think he trusted Jeremiah Valeska too much. In his mind it was  all perfectly justified.

* * *

Jeremiah had been surprised by Bruce's sudden and unexpected visit, but in the end he had been delighted. Though his concern had grown, Theo was preparing to make his move.

_To_ _kill_ _Brucie._

Jeremiah wouldn't let him.

"Tell me, Jongleur, how far doyour contacts reach exactly?" the boy asked the guard, in a low voice not wanting to be heard by anyone else.

Jongleur smiled. "As far as we need them." He answered

"Great, because if the police don't want to give us Theo Galavan, then we'll have to get him  on our own."


	23. Chapter XXII: Going forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah gets an interesting new ‘friend’, meanwhile Jim finally decides to act, _will he find some evidence to prove that Jeremiah had been sincere in his confession, in Theo Galavan’s penthouse_?

The Arkham Asylum  common room was nothing special, identical in appearance to the  mess hall , only smaller, which given the containment cage all around made the space reserved for patients even less, with fewer tables and their respective benches and a single armchair, which was usually reserved for the  _'Big Bad'_ of the moment.

Once that was Sionis's place, now, judging by the frightened gaze of the more lucid patients and the admiring gaze of those lucid but not exactly in stable contact with reality who moved to let him pass, it was  _his_ .

_Jeremiah realized he didn't care_ . Maybe once, before Theo, before the Maniax, maybe when Jerome was still alive and his heart was beating with him, maybe then he would  have cared .

_He and his twin would_ _have_ _shared_ _the honor, of course_. Jeremiah had no difficulty imagining the scene: _Jerome sitting in the chair like a ruler on the decorated throne and Jeremiah perched on one of_ _the armrests_ _, with his legs stretched over Jerome's._

_Now it was just a pipe dream_ . One of the many that crossed Jeremiah's mind daily.

_Oh, he couldn't wait to get his hands on Theo Galavan_ , he would inflict so much pain on him that the traitorous bastard would beg him to kill him. And Jeremiah would do it,  carving his heart out.

He could almost feel the warmth of the blood bathing his hands, the wet, sticky sound that the bastard's still, barely,  beating heart would make as he pulled it out. He would show him  his own heart . And he would laugh as he dug his nails into that bloody muscle.

A slow and disturbing smile curled Jeremiah Valeska's lips, while his gaze remained apparently focused on  nothing , lost in a world of blood that only he could see. The patients and guards who noticed that smile trembled, seeing for the first time what true madness looked like.

_An acid green abyss seething with malice and violence_ .

The smile suddenly disappeared, like a mask slipping from the actor's face. And Jeremiah held back a disappointed sigh that for the moment  those images of violence were just that,  _images_ ,  _fantasies_ , which as pleasant as they were  weren’t real.

The traitor's imaginary cries of pain, by Theo Galavan, faded back into  the annoying and repetitive song ‘ Dominique’  playing in the Common Room from an old gramophone that seemed to be at least from the same period as the song itself.

Jeremiah decided to do his best to ignore the music, letting it slip into the background as he did as a child when he ignored  the  circus music, even though, once again, the thought made it all the more evident that  _a piece_ was missing. Jerome had always been there, his voice helping him ignore the music, or the noises coming from the room of the slut who had been their mother.

Jeremiah shook his head imperceptibly chasing the memory away, while his gaze scanned the common room, looking for Jonathan Crane, hoping he was there. Because if he hadn't been, it would certainly have been the most boring five hours of his life, while he waited for dinner time to arrive and then to return to his cell.

_ At least in the meantime he could talk to Jongleur and refine their plan to kidnap Theo. _

Jongleur had friends, no, not friends,  _people_ in  high  places who would follow his every order because they knew that Jongleur was only the conduit of Jeremiah's will.

Obtaining a Cult thanks to their acts as Maniax had been an unexpected thing, but certainly not unwelcome to Jeremiah –and if he had been with him, to Jerome– who couldn't wait to mobilize them and see them in action.

Thinking about this, perhaps he should have asked Jongleur to inform ' _their_ ' cops to initiate the plan to punish Jim Gordon for not believing his words.

Nothing would have been more beautiful than seeing Jimbo being doubted by his colleagues, seeing him fall from grace as he began to be suspected of being one of Jeremiah's men.

_Obviously he would make sure Brucie was safe first_ . That the trap for Theo was already tight around his neck and ready to snap, before undermining the reputation of the only other person Jeremiah was sure he would defend Bruce at any cost.

Jeremiah's gaze fell on one particular patient, the one he was looking for.

But before he set that plan in motion, he had someone to talk to.

Jonathan was hiding in the corner farthest from the center of the common room, away from any other patient, half-balled up on himself, head down, his gaze fixed on a sketch pad on which he was furiously tracing something with a black crayon. His uniform was a couple of sizes too big, but it didn't surprise Jeremiah so much, he doubted that Arkham had uniforms that fit a fifteen year-old.

Jeremiah approached Jonathan who at first didn't seem to notice him, too busy tracing and tracing, drawing and blending. Although irritated by being ignored Jeremiah leaned over just to see what Jonathan was drawing, his shadow stretching over the seated boy like a creature ready to attack.

The Valeska could only make out a flash of elongated and sharp lines, a scarecrow on an ash-black background, with two black slits for eyes and a sewn-in grin for mouth, before Jonathan pressed the  sketch pad to his chest as he lifted  his gaze.

Jeremiah found himself meeting the bluest eyes he had ever seen, like darting shards of ice that took a few moments to focus on him. By the way his pupils contracted, as if he were a flame, Jeremiah expected the other to start screaming, lost again in his hallucinations, instead a slightly disturbing,  even for the Valeska, smile curled Jonathan's lips.

"Jeremiah Valeska." the boy said, holding his sketch pad tight. And Jeremiah couldn't help but think that Jonathan seemed almost too happy to meet him, which caught him off guard enough to cost him a few moments before he could respond.

"Yes, and you're Jonathan Crane, right?" he asked, although he already knew the answer, the boy nodded, his movements almost too quick.  It was weird but then being constantly terrified probably led to developing some  strange tics.

"Why did you come to talk to me?" Jonathan asked “I can't help you with anything. I'm the person  with the least connections in here. "

Jeremiah laughed at that brutally honest answer, a little surprised by how the frightened kid wasn't afraid to meet his gaze. Jonathan  shuddered at the sound, while a few other patients turned their faces towards them, curious as to what caused the redhead's laughter.

"Well, then it's fortunate that I didn't come here to get help or favors." he said, while a sinister smile curled his lips. "In fact, I already have all the help I need."

Jonathan gave him a confused look as he slowly got to his feet, still clutching the  sketch pad with such vehemence that it almost felt like that was his only grip on reality. "Then why…?"

Jeremiah slightly inclined his head, smile still on his lips although less sinister and intimidating than before, as he took half a step back, after all he  didn’t want to intimidate Jonathan that much, the boy noticed the gesture and also seemed to understand the meaning behind his actions, in fact a small part of the tension left his posture. "Why am I talking to you instead of sitting on my throne revered by all the other  nutjobs in here?"  he asked rhetorically, his smile just widening, in an expression that had never been present on Jeremiah's face but which was more than normal on the face of his now gone twin. Jonathan nodded. “Well, the answer is simple Jon, _I was getting bored_ . And you are the most interesting person in here after me. "

Jonathan said nothing for a long moment, staring at him with those  shards of ice he had for his eyes, his gaze cold,  _cold_ and much more calculating than he expected from someone who had spent the past year completely lost in his hallucinations. “So… you just want to talk to me?  You don’t  want anything? Just talk?" he asked, then, slightly tilting his head like a curious crow.

Jeremiah had to hold back a chuckle at the comparison, it  did make sense that the scarecrow-terrified kid reminded him of a  crow , after all,  _weren't scarecrows created just for the purpose of chasing crows away?_

Jeremiah nodded, instead of answering vocally, after successfully completely stifling the giggle that he wanted to leave his mouth.

"All right. If you just want to talk, then, Jeremiah, let's talk."

"Oh?"

Jeremiah led Jonathan away from his isolated corner to a practically empty table that had once been what he and Jerome had claimed as theirs.

Jonathan gave him the same disturbing smile that had folded his lips when he recognized him, his gaze shifted for a moment from Jeremiah to an indefinite point to his right, but Jonathan didn't seem to be too scared, despite the semi-imperceptible tremor who ran along  him . "Do you want to know why I accepted?" the other asked, still staring at that indefinite point.

Perhaps in Jonathan's eyes the ' _scarecrow_ ' was there.

"I'm curious, yes."

Jonathan's smile widened slightly as his gaze met Jeremiah's. "Because you frighten me more than the scarecrow can." the boy explained. “If I'm with you, he has no power over me. So, Jeremiah,  _let's talk._ "

.

.

The following hours passed almost too quickly, and Jeremiah found himself considering that he had made a good choice in deciding that Jonathan would be his way of passing time between Bruce's visits and his planning his revenge against Theo Galavan.

Young Crane was interesting, when his terror was not so strong as to render him unable to think of anything other than the terrifying scarecrow who 'lived' in the corner of his vision, even more interesting was the fact that Jonathan wanted to talk to him and stay in his company, because Jeremiah scared him enough that he could ignore the presence of the ghost created by the toxin his father had created.

"I hope to see Jonathan, more often from now on." he commented to Jongleur, the guard simply nodded, while his token, symbol of the Cult that saw him and his twin as messiah, rattled rhythmically against the sleeve of his uniform at regular intervals following his footsteps.

"If that's what you want, me and the other guards will make it so." Jongleur answered, his voice no higher than a whisper, not wanting to be heard by those few guards who were not part of the Cult.  _Yet_ .

Jeremiah smiled. "It would be perfect. Now, what is it you wanted to tell me before? "

A smirk, very similar to that of his twin  but distorted, curled Jongleur's lips. "I have received word that our dear white paladin has finally received his pass to explore the spider's web."

"Oh?" Jeremiah's smile widened, maybe he didn't need to 'create any conditions' it just seemed that Jim was  doing that by himself . "And who is with him?"

"His companion and our black paladin."

Jeremiah chuckled, a cold, dark sound that echoed ominously through the corridors of the asylum.

And many of the guards, instead of getting nervous at the sound, smiled in an equally sinister way.

* * *

Jim originally had no intention of actually requesting a search warrant for Theo Galavan's penthouse. Especially since the only proof of him was the confession of someone who was considered 'criminally insane' and whose confession would therefore not have been considered as evidence by any court.

But the thought had been in his mind for weeks, Jeremiah Valeska might be a liar and a manipulator, but in that moment as he spoke imagining he had Bruce in front of him his words had sounded truly honest, in a way that Jim himself couldn't to explain. And while Harvey thought that, perhaps, he was letting the  redhead fool him again, Andrew (one of the survivors of the attack on the GCPD) who had entered the case to… _well, help close it_ , finding the true  mastermind of everything related  to the Maniax, Andrew thought  the same as him,  that Jeremiah wasn’t lying nor trying to  frame an innocent for his and his brother’s deeds. It wasn’t how the Valeska did things after all.

What had convinced him completely, making him decide to ignore his doubts, however, had not been the confession of Jeremiah Valeska or the support of his colleague, the thing that had convinced him was a phone call. It was hearing Bruce tell him that Theo Galavan had invited him for a dinner at his penthouse, and that Bruce was scared, that he didn't trust the man,  _that he believed Jeremiah's words_ and  the  ' _please Detective, I don't want to stay alone with that man_ '.

Sometimes people would comment behind his back, about how he was 'Bruce Wayne's personal cop', or less cruelly about how he was 'his unofficial guardian', maybe they were right. Because if it weren't for that phone call, Jim wouldn't be at the newly elected mayor's penthouse now, with five other agents with him, as well as Harvey and Andrew,  and a search warrant.

Theo Galavan had let them in without a single protest, quiet if confused as to why they were there to search his home.

The man had seemed honest, but Jim suspected he wasn't.

As he scoured the penthouse for evidence, the words Jeremiah had said to him on the day he brought him to Arkham rang in his memory: ' _Find our_ _diaries_ _, Jimbo_ .'

And that was what he tried to do, but for a good part of the time he found nothing, not a trace of anything remotely a proof, let alone the  journals of the Valeska twins.

The last remaining part of the penthouse to check were the guest rooms, Jim decided to check one of the last ones,  the one that if Jeremiah had told the truth had been _the twins' room_ , the rest of the agents those before and Andrew one  of the four after  it .

There was nothing in the room that stood out immediately to the eye, everything was perfect and tidy, the furniture was empty, nothing under the bed or hidden between the mattress and the bed base, nothing in the desk drawers.

Jim stopped in the center of the room, if the twins had been there, which was a great if and even if Jeremiah had been telling the truth, maybe Galavan had already found  the journals and disposed of the evidence.

_ Yet he couldn't get rid of the idea that they were still there. _

If there was one thing he had learned in his interactions with the Valeska twins it was that they were both extremely smart and Jeremiah had told him that they had begun to doubt the veracity of Galavan's words (though not enough to save Jerome from his plan), and if they did, Jim was sure they would hide their journals somewhere where Galavan would never find them…

_ But where? _

_ Where? _

Jim looked around the room, over and over.  _But he couldn't think of anywhere…-_

_Jeremiah's obsession with geometric shapes_ . The thought came suddenly like a bolt from the blue as his gaze fell on the peculiar frames of wood and plaster that decorated the lower part of the walls, which formed concentric rectangles like labyrinths without corridors.

_ The twins wanted their journals hidden but close at hand. _

Jim searched behind the desk, but there was nothing there.

_ Maybe they wanted to have them as close as possible. _

Jim walked over to the bed once more, groping for something that might be hiding behind the headboard.

And he felt it  even with  the  gloves, faux leather with a familiar impression under his fingers.

A smirk curled Jim Gordon's lips as he pulled from behind the headboard two journals –which he was now  more familiar with– that had been stuck into the wall decorations like pieces of a puzzle.

Jim put the journals in an evidence bag.

The smile  didn’t leave his lips even when he reunited with his colleagues. Andrew smiled  back , while Harvey just looked  worried even though Jim wasn't sure  of why .  _He had found the evidence._

_ He had found a way to make sure Galavan couldn't be alone with Bruce. _

With diaries in hand, as Andrew grabbed the handcuffs, the agents headed for the penthouse entrance where Theo Galavan was waiting for them.

"Theo Galavan, you are under arrest for organizing the escape of six patients from Arkham Asylum and providing them with accommodation, using them as accessories in acts of terrorism. I advise you to remain silent, as any word you say can and will be used against you in court." and perhaps his voice was too satisfied as he said those words but in that instant he could not care. "Agent Dove arrest Mr. Galavan."

The look Theo Galavan gave him as he was arrested was all Gordon needed to silence any doubts in his mind, especially now that he had the Valeska journals in his hands.

Jim didn't even notice the worried looks Harvey was giving him.

And Harvey, for his part, hoped it was just a trick of the light due to the strange lighting in Galavan's penthouse, because Jim's confident and overly satisfied smile mixed with the strange light in his eyes had reminded him of the _expression of the Valeskas._


	24. Chapter XXIII: Strange happenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theo Galavan has been arrested, in the meantime change rears its head once again.

That morning, when Jeremiah was brought into Arkham's visiting room, he expected to see Bruce, after all even though they  had seen each other yesterday, today was the day that had been designated for his regular visit.

And Jeremiah knew that Brucie would use every possible excuse to increase the times they saw each other, however much Bruce wanted to be the perfect socialite,  _he couldn't be_ ,  not really at least, because he had too much heart and couldn't act like one of those rich bastards who cared  for their reputation alone.

To his surprise, however, the person sitting on the other side of the metal table was not Brucie, but the Detective, or well he was a Captain now, James Gordon.

"Detective Gordon," he said by way of greeting, once the guard, not Jongleur but  they were still part of the Cult, who had accompanied him there left them alone after notifying the Captain that they had ‘thirty minutes’,  which wasn’t actually the usual time given for a visit, but well Gordon wasn’t Brucie so he had to make do with what was given to him.

Gordon narrowed his eyes at the fact that he had referred to him in  his old rank, Jeremiah responded to that look with a smirk.

"It's a surprise to see you here,  _Detective_." Jeremiah said the smile still unchanged on his lips. “Although I wonder why are you here? I already told you everything at the department. "

"I found the journals, Jeremiah." Gordon said, his tone just  a hint cold, and  mostly irritated . Probably because Jeremiah was deliberately keeping his rank wrong, or perhaps because he didn't really want to be there talking to him  or, and that made Jeremiah’s smirk grow wider, though not out of happiness or satisfaction but out of a tentative to mask his bitterness, because the Captain couldn’t accept the fact that Jeremiah had in fact said the truth.

Not that the boy cared at the moment, every thought of him focused on the diaries, his and…  _Jerome's_. He wanted to have them back,  and if not his own at least his twin’s, he needed something to remember him,  _he needed it_ but,  alas, he doubted that the Captain was there for that.

"It is a joy to know that the _traitor_ didn’t find them. Even if it doesn't surprise me. " a menacing smile, almost reptilian like the apparent smile of a viper preparing to bite, folded Jeremiah's lips.

Gordon gave him a look that seemed both confused and as if he demanded an answer, Jeremiah's smile just widened  until the pointy tip of his canines was visible, like he really was preparing to strike and bite. 

"Theo has always seen himself as a spider, Jimbo." Jeremiah said "And he saw each of us as an insect  trapped in his web,  tangling ourselves into his silky fake truth more and more as we attempted to escape, but he has forgotten one thing…"

"What?" Gordon asked when Jeremiah's pause lasted too long.

"That Jerome and I  aren’t insects, we are  _snakes_." the boy continued. “And snakes are well versed in slithering away from traps.”

"That doesn't explain anything, Jeremiah."

"Oh no, it explains  _everything_ , Jimbo." he retorted, "But you're not here to listen to my metaphors, are you?"

"No," replied the Captain  curtly, his irritation that had grown even more evident after what the man thought was an attempt to  waste the already too little time they had for the visit, "I'm here because I need information."

Jeremiah just made a small nod, as if he had already expected those words, and then waved a hand as if he was brushing something away. His handcuff chain jingling. "I've already told you everything I know."

"I know you didn't." Gordon confidently refuted “Jeremiah, Theo Galavan is in our custody. But if my only  evidence is your diaries and your confession… we will have to release him. "

That was enough to make Jeremiah's smile disappear, substituted by a frown and a seething anger burning in his eyes. "Why? He _killed_ my twin _in cold blood_ on live television and… "a pause, a sigh left Jeremiah's lips, so resigned that Jim felt something almost constrict in his chest, because the expression on the boy’s face was so… _neutral_ , like that was what he expected. Like it was obvious to him that the world wouldn’t care about him or his late twin. Jeremiah continued: "My confession has no value because of my condition isn't it? "

Jim nodded. “But if I had other irrefutable evidence, I could bring him to justice. Tell me where Mayor James is "

"The problem is, Jimmy, that I really told you everything I know- No, don't interrupt me." The boy said, raising his hand when the Captain  made the move to interrupt him, to repeat that ' _I know you didn't tell me everything_ '. "I have nothing else to tell you. But there is someone who has more information than me  on those regards . Barbara or Tabitha, but  the  Galavan is too loyal to her  _dear bastard_ brother, so your best bet is to talk to Barbara.  She has spent more time with the mayor than I have. "

"And how can I find  her? After the Gala she…  _disappeared_. "

An indefinable expression crossed Jeremiah's face at the mention of the Gala, the event that had brought him to his current situation,  to be alone and cold and feeling like he was dead even though he was still breathing , but it soon disappeared, replaced by an empty smile. "Oh, come on Jimbo, you know better than I do that she'll  be the one find you." he said, "She hasn't forgiven you yet for canceling the  wedding." His smile widened,  Gordon narrowed his eyes, irritation and an undefined emotion gone replaced by anger.

But before Jim had a chance to react to Valeska's comment, the guard returned.

Jeremiah just chuckled. “Well, good luck with Barbara, Jimbo. I've heard that nothing is worse than a woman who has been rejected  in love. "

Jeremiah left the  visiting room laughing in that nervous, semi-hysterical way that had characterized his twin's laughter. And Jim was too distracted by  Jeremiah’s earlier comment, and his memories of Barbara, to notice that the guard hadn't shut Jeremiah  up, pulled him out of the room or pushed him, instead letting the boy leave the room following him, as if Jeremiah was the one giving the orders.

* * *

Gordon's visit had left him more annoyed and  irritated than Jeremiah wanted to admit or prove.

The simple idea that Theo Galavan could be released caused a fire of anger to ignite in his chest, although if that happened it would make his revenge plan easier. Jeremiah wanted Theo to lose  _everything_ , all his prestige, the fact that he believed he was on a level above theirs. Jeremiah wanted Theo to suffer in every possible way, even at the expense of his own plan.

"I guess you didn't like the visit  all that much, huh?"

Jeremiah's gaze snapped onto Jonathan so suddenly that it led the other boy to just move away from him, despite being on opposite sides of the table.

"'I didn’t like it all that much'?  Uh, that's an understatement, Jon." Jeremiah said, focusing again on the present as much as he could with those angry thoughts, revenge, disappointment, violence and that now perpetual feeling of  _cold, cold, cold_ , which seemed to want to pull him into a new nightmare in which he could not do anything if do not stare into an infinite dark abyss.

Noticing how, although he  didn’t want to show it, Jonathan was nervous under his gaze, Jeremiah, who at the moment  didn’t want to push the other too much, moved him, turning him to the tray, where was the rather sad breakfast they served at the  cafeteria that morning.

Again as he had done in the last few weeks, Jeremiah forced  himself to eat  the meal, even though he didn't want to, even though everything seemed to taste like nothing and dust and something sweet and metallic as if it were sand mixed with blood.

Jonathan was completely silent for a large part, excluding his involuntary whispers of ' _Scarecrow_ ' and ' _Leave me alone_ ' which the boy probably wasn't even aware he was saying.

Jonathan dropped the spoon, jerking his hand away, fingers twitching into claws, with so much tension that Jeremiah was pretty sure  that had to hurt.

"Did  _he_ try to touch your hand?" Jeremiah asked with disguised interest. Looking from his tray to Jonathan, who met  his gaze with those cold but terrified shards of ice he had for eyes.

The boy gave him one of his disturbing smiles as his hand relaxed enough for him to pick up the spoon again. And then he nodded.

"Uh. What an annoying hallucination. "

Jonathan croaked a laugh, low and insecure. His gaze  didn’t  leave Jeremiah for the rest of the meal.

Jeremiah didn't find it annoying so he let him do it, his mind letting go of his thoughts of revenge at the moment to  muse what the consequences would be if  he got into the common room and took the vinyl from the gramophone and broke it in two.

_ Honestly, that damn song was driving him even more insane than he had already agreed to be.  _

_ Probably none, or a minimal enough that it would still be worth it. _

.

.

Jeremiah had completely forgotten that in addition to Brucie's visit, which turned out to be Captain Gordon's visit, he also had a visit with his psychiatrist.

_ This was perhaps the time he would kill Leichman, he was annoyed enough that just a misplaced comment from the doctor would do.  Pushing him into a murderous rage, he was already just that close to it. _

But the route they were taking  wasn’t the one to Leichman's office.

"This  isn’t  the way to Dr. Leichman's office." he said, confused and worried.  _Though he hoped maybe they were taking him to Harley,_ _though_ _didn't seem very likely, there was no reason to change his doctor._

The guard, who once again wasn't Jongleur – _it was probably his day off–_ , nodded. "They've assigned you a new psychiatrist."

"Oh? I thought Leichman wasn't going to let anyone take his 'favorite' patient "Jeremiah commented.

"Yes, well, the doctor certainly couldn't refuse the Director."

The guard stopped, motioning him to enter the office, on the other side waiting for him was the Director of Arkham Asylum, Hugo Strange.

His eyes as he looked at him far colder and more disturbingly interested than Leichman's, a hollow little smile of mock courtesy curling his lips.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Jeremiah."

Jeremiah held back a shiver, all of his thoughts of murder fleeting his mind, substituted by a deep, lingering fear, as if something was wrong. And that something made him think that meeting the doctor wasn’t going to be good for him. 


	25. Chapter XXIV: Unconventional treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugo Strange has always been interested in the mysteries of biology and psychology, but when it comes to the latter, he has never been interested in repairing what’s broken, rather to break it all down to rebuild it anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Medical Malpractice (as in uncorrectly administered Electroconvulsive Therapy(Electroshock))

The visits with Doctor Strange were…  _strange_ , for lack of another better term for them, bizarre, certainly had nothing to do with the visits he had had with Doctor Leichman.

Where Leichman would have asked him: ' _Why did he act like he did_ ' or ' _Why he killed all those people_ '; Strange asked him ' _how he felt_ ' doing it, ' _what he felt_ ', he told him to describe what he was feeling now and compare it with how he felt in those moments.

It was exhausting for Jeremiah to focus so much on his emotions, to focus so much on what he was feeling to describe it. It made him more and more aware of the gaping void in his chest, of the ever growing cold, made him remember the strange nightmares that tormented him, night after night.

_ Of that frozen abyss that filled his dreams and from which he could not escape. _

And then there was the psychiatrist's strange fixation on his 'bond' with Jerome, Jeremiah knew he shouldn't have named it, but when he did, it was an oversight, he was too tired and, frankly, too distant from the present –it was getting harder and harder to focus on what was happening in front of and around him as the emptiness in his soul grew, and he would normally have at least Bruce's company every couple of days, but Strange had limited his visits to one a week and Jeremiah he was starting to feel the effects– to notice.

Strange's questions on the subject were always the same, always identical: ' _What do you mean by feeling his emotions_ ' and ' _How aware were you of each other's state'_ ; so far Jeremiah had refused to answer any questions on the subject and Strange seemed bothered by his reticence to answer him.

But he had not acted in any way, he had tried to do something to force him to respond.

Jonathan kept telling him to give the doctor what he wanted, constantly warning him that he was playing with fire.

_ Well, Jonathan didn't know, but Jeremiah liked playing with fire, because he knew exactly how to put it out. _

Or at least that’s what he believed, he didn’t know that Hugo Strange was far different from any other person he had been in contact till now.

"’Miah? " that nickname pronounced so suddenly almost made him jump, tearing him from his thoughts and throwing him back into the cold reality, for a second it seemed to him that the voice that had called him was that of Jerome, but it was not possible…  _not anymore at least._

In front of him, sitting on the other side of the metal table, illuminated by the dazzling light that filtered through the barred arched panoramic window, stood Bruce,  _Brucie_ , his blue eyes full of concern.

How long had Jeremiah stood there, in silence, staring at nothing… _completely lost in his mind?_

"Yes, Bruce?" he said, pretending that everything was okay, pretending not to have just dissociated himself so much from reality that he hadn't even noticed that the only other person he cared about was there in front of him.

Bruce was silent for a few moments, probably pondering the gentlest and tactful way possible to ask him what the hell had just happened.

"Are you... OK?" he asked in fact, his voice unsure, a pause between his words due to uncertainty.

Jeremiah smiled, faintly, that plastic, picture perfect, smile that Jerome would immediately recognize as fake, but which seemed perfectly genuine to everyone else.

"Yes, I'm fine, just a little distracted." he replied, it was not a complete lie –after all he would never really lie to Bruce– because he was fine, physically, the problem was all elsewhere.

"If something was wrong, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?" he asked, genuine concern and sweetness mixed together in his blue eyes.

Jeremiah almost felt guilty about his half-lie on seeing that look, but he nodded anyway, knowing that this time the answer was a complete lie.

_Jerome deserved Bruce more than him_ , he thought,  _he didn't deserve Bruce's affection, his honesty…_

_ Not if he couldn't share it with his twin, not if- _

"It's okay, it's okay, 'Miah,” Bruce muttered, his warm, delicate hands resting on top of his own, even though he knew he shouldn't. Even though he knew this was a violation of the Arkham Asylum patient visitation code.

The warmth of his touch brought him back to reality, anchored him there. Relieving, if only momentarily, the grip of the cold on his body.

"You were thinking about Jerome, weren't you?"

Jeremiah gave him a confused expression. "How do you know?" 

Bruce gave him a small, soft smile, like a flower blossoming under the snow. "You had that expression… distant as if you were looking at something beyond this plane, and… there was this… sadness…" he tried to explain.

"I didn't think I was that easy to read." Jeremiah said in response, his tone a touch lighter than normal as he tried to ease the tension in the air.

"You are not, really." Bruce answered "I guess maybe… I'm just observant enough to notice it."

Jeremiah said nothing in response, only nodding.

"Do you want to talk about him?" the boy asked uncertainly, but his gaze did not leave Jeremiah. "Only if you want of course, I don't want you to feel… forced to tell me anything." he added quickly, too quickly mistaking Jeremiah's surprised silence for something far more sinister.

Jeremiah smiled, slightly sweet, the expression odd on his face as if he wasn't all that used to making it. "No, no it's fine." he said "Is there something you want to know, Brucie?"

Bruce shook his head. “Not particularly, I… I'd just like to  know him. That's all."

Bruce seemed sincere, as he always was, sweet and too human. Something the twins, now just Jeremiah, weren't  used to at all. A chuckle, involuntary and a bitter hint left the Valeska's mouth.

“Would you like to know the person who nearly killed you? You're… you're a really weird kid, Bruce,”Jeremiah said, slightly shaking his head in surprise and a teasing hint. Then another sweet new smile, just a little crooked, curled his lips and Jeremiah told Bruce about his twin.

* * *

The Celestial Garden used to be one of Gotham's goth clubs, one of the most renowned, but now after the Maniax, it had received a total transformation. Now, in addition to revolt and nonconformism, the symbol of the Celestial Garden were the Maniax, and to be more specific…  _The Valeska twins_. The  recorded  voices of Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska resonating in the club mixed with the music.

It was the perfect meeting place for the nascent Valeskas Cult, legal enough not to arouse suspicion and not to draw the attention of the police, despite its 'particular' theme, but with the owner quite entangled in the operation of the underworld to have connections with a bit of everything.

As well as the perfect place where Jongleur could meet the policemen who were in the Cult without arousing any suspicion. After all, the two had finished their shift and no one would ever suspect that one of them, one of the three survivors of the GCPD Attack, would join a group that idolized twins.

Not that anyone knew about the Cult,  _yet_ . They had been careful, they were moving in the shadows, waiting, waiting for Jeremiah to give them the green light.

At the moment, the green light wasn't causing chaos and anarchy everywhere, but kidnapping the bastard who killed Jerome, and virtually everyone in the cult had offered to help.

_ Everyone wanted to shed Theo Galavan's blood, to avenge one of their leaders. _

But before they could, they had to get their hands on the bastard, which was the reason why Jongleur had asked the two policemen, Andrew Dove and Axel Montemayor, to meet him at the Celestial Garden.

"We can't take him away from the department, it would attract too much attention." Axel said in response to his previous question, like  Dove even Montemayor still had his uniform, making them stand out in contrast to all the other members of the Cult around them, but the tokens on their wrists spoke more clearly than any clothing could.

"But we don't have to." Andrew added "If Jim can secure the evidence we need, Galavan will be transferred to Blackgate, we can hijack the transport, make sure ours are the ones taking him into custody."

Jongleur nodded, then a smirk curled his lips. " _Jim_?"

Two identical, satisfied and slightly cruel smiles curled the lips of the two policemen. "Jim isn't… exactly aware that he's helping us but he  is," Axel said.

"Honestly, I think with the right approach we could even get him to our side." Andrew added. " He’s not even aware of how close he is to seeing the truth."

Jongleur turned a curious look at the policeman. “Uh, maybe you're right. After all, Gordon spent a lot of time reading the twins' diaries." the guard agreed.

The two policemen nodded, treacherous and disturbing smiles curling their lips.

"For now, let's just take Galavan into our…  _custody_." Jongleur said after a few moments, the music around them reaching its peak, the ' _Be free_ ' line accompanied by the recorded laughter of the Valeska twins, the two policemen nodded. A smile, terribly similar to Jerome Valeska's, curled the guard's lips. " _The bastard will pay…_ " he began.

" _... with blood and_ _his cries_ _of pain._ " the two policemen completed, their voices lost in a chorus with those of the rest of those present who had heard Jongleur, and before the last word was spoken everyone in the club had joined the chorus.

The cruel twin laughter of Jerome and Jeremiah Valeska echoing around them.

* * *

Strange had asked him the exact same question for the third time. ' _To what extent were you and your twin aware of each other's emotions?_ '

Jeremiah hadn't answered, he didn't want to answer. His 'bond' with Jerome was a private,  intimate, thing, of which only he and his twin knew the existence and specifics  of. He wouldn't share information about their special connection with a shrink, no matter how uncomfortable his increasingly cold and irritated gaze was making him feel.

Jeremiah had seen worse, he wouldn't have  bowed down his head just because he was feeling uncomfortable, he would have been foolish.

Even though his instincts were screaming at him otherwise, Jeremiah blamed Jonathan and warned him for his, for the tension he felt growing and growing as Strange's gaze grew colder and colder.

The man shook his head, a disappointed sigh left his lips. “I expected better from you, Jeremiah. I really hoped you would cooperate. "

The doctor pushed the button under his desk to call the guards in his office. The sense of unease that Jeremiah already felt sharpened with the action after those words. Two guards entered shortly, neither of them had a token on their wrist.

Strange rose to his feet, and Jeremiah stiffened under his gaze, preparing to sprint, to attack the doctor or the two guards, even though he was handcuffed, even though he alone was not a quarter of what he was when he was with Jerome.

The two guards approached, taking him by the arms, squeezed too tight, their grip that reminded him of Zach's, tightened to the point of hurting and that left him no room for action.

"Take the patient to the Sanatorium, room A-15"

The two guards nodded, and even as Jeremiah tried to free himself from their grip, they began to drag him out of the psychiatrist's office and into the corridors of the asylum. Towards a part the boy had never seen, another building on the grounds of the old mansion, the conditions of that building even worse than those of the main asylum, the metal grilles on the windows completely rusted and the air inside smelled of powder and disinfectant.

In the distance Jeremiah heard familiar screams.

_ Jonathan. _

But those screams didn't sound like terror, no, they were too loud, too visceral. It was pain, pure and simple pain.

Jeremiah began to fidget with more intent in the guards' grasp , his discomfort turning to fear. A fear he hadn't felt in years, which made him feel lost, with even less control than usual, less and less.

The guards' grip was iron and he could not break free, and there was too much fear in his mind to be able to remember what Tabitha had taught him and his twin.

Jonathan's screams filling the silence.

Soon, too soon, Jeremiah and the guards reached Room A-15. Inside the large empty room there was a sort of table, almost like an operating table, but with more padding, and straps and instruments in the upper part, alongside there was a console with dials and knobs.

It all seemed to come out of a period that had been decades past.

"Stop fidgeting, Valeska." one of the guards barked, tightening his grip, while the other tried to remove his handcuffs.

As soon as he had his hands free, Jeremiah struck, an open hand blow on the nose of the guard who had removed the handcuffs, the blow hard enough to make him take a few steps back and allow Jeremiah to extricate himself from the other's grip and fast, too fast for the guard to try to block it.

Jeremiah stepped away from the two guards and the strapped table. For the first time, even if still with a part of himself that he was missing, with fear and adrenaline flowing together in his blood, he felt alive.

Unfortunately, as fast and agile and strong as he could be, alone as he was and not used to fighting alone, the guards managed to overwhelm him.

* * *

Hugo Strange found Jeremiah Valeska interesting as a patient.

His mind in being disturbed had a certain charm, the same dangerous charm of approaching a lion that had been caged because you wanted to see him snap into the bars.

The same charm of a dense dark forest where getting lost could mean dying.

_ Unfortunately, the boy was not among the most cooperative of his patients, especially when his twin was the topic of discussion. _

Jerome Valeska was also interesting, although until now, the doctor had only dealt with his corpse, perfectly preserved in Indian Hill. Honestly after seeing all the marks their life had left on the young man's body, Strange was surprised that the twins had even reached majority.

And that surprise had simply heightened his interest in the two.

And with the giant steps that the Rebirth project was taking, he was looking forward to bringing the second Valeska back to the world of the living.

_ Who knows if his twin would have sensed it? The boy certainly seemed to be aware of his twin's current state, albeit only with vague sensations. Perhaps he would be able to sense the exact moment when Jerome would open his eyes again. _

_ Perhaps he would vaguely sense the changes his twin was going through. _

The twins were the perfect guinea pigs for both of the doctor's favorite fields, biology and psychology. One of the twins would be recreated in his laboratory and the other would be reborn under his hand.

Too bad that to achieve this last result, he would first have to raze the previous foundation. Fortunately, the death of his twin had already begun to dent the boy's precarious stability, and the visiting limit he had imposed ( _and it was not surprising that Jeremiah had taken such an interest in Bruce Wayne, the boy his brother had attempted to kill?_ ) had destabilized him even more.

But the Valeska was surprisingly resilient to more subtle methods that he usually used with his other patients. Well, for what his words and his actions couldn't do, a carefully calibrated couple of volts certainly would.

_ Even if it was a shame really. _

.

.

Jeremiah Valeska seemed frightened, tied as he was on the operating table.

_ Uh, he didn't think someone like Jeremiah could be scared. Maybe he needed to review the diagnosis he made of the boy. _

Strange calibrated the ETC, and placed the electrodes of the device at the temples of the boy, who luckily had been secured enough so that he could move to much.

"I'm not doing this because I want to hurt you, Jeremiah," he said to the boy, though his voice was too cold to be of any comfort. “I just want to help you. And sometimes to do so, a little suffering is necessary. "

Jeremiah Valeska's green eyes, terrified yet cold, like the eyes of a reptile, fixed on him. There was something almost disturbing about the emptiness he saw in those eyes, the total indifference to his words and what was about to happen, as if it wasn't the pain that scared him but only the fact that Jeremiah didn't know what to expect from him. experience.

Strange looked away from his patient's and activated the device. To his extreme surprise, even without the anesthetic, Jeremiah didn’t scream around the leather fastened to his mouth, even as the electricity forced his body to contract involuntarily.

As previously said:  _Interesting_ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically in the series the Celestial Garden never was a base of operation of the Cult, but since this is my re-writing I decided to make it so it, not only was one of the bases of the Cult, but also the first.


	26. Chapter XXV: Unexpected Obstacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce, in the now few visits, is starting to realize that something isn’t right with Jeremiah. And as he starts piecing out the clues, he realizes that something is really wrong in Arkham. In the meantime an obstacle presents itself on the path to make Theo Galavan pay... though maybe it wont be an obstacle, _but the opposite instead_.

Bruce hadn't given much  thought to the fact that  his visits  with Jeremiah had been reduced, because he  had  expected it would happen sooner or later, Arkham patients didn't get many visits, given their 'criminally insane' status and when they did, the visits were so regulated that normally no one, apart from the police, tended to visit the patients.

Bruce had expected that sooner or later even with his privilege, due to the fact that the Arkham Asylum was financed with his money, someone, nominally the Director of the Asylum, would decide that he too had to respect the same rules as the others.

On one hand, this had almost reassured him, because that meant that despite the rumors, Doctor Strange  wasn’t so corruptible, which was a good thing, but on the other it had bothered him.

His visits were important to Jeremiah, he knew it, the boy had told him more than once, though not directly. Jeremiah almost never said directly what he felt, always preferring to hide what he meant behind  sharp, harshly worded ‘jokes’ that could almost be offensive if you didn't know him.

But Bruce had begun to notice that something was wrong because if on his previous visit, the one in which Jeremiah had told him about Jerome –his eyes sparkling with such affection that Bruce had felt his heart tighten in his chest, the guilt  already weighing on his shoulders becoming even more pronounced , because Jerome had died because of him, in a way– Jeremiah had been a little distant at first, lost in his thoughts, not that Bruce blamed him.

But in the last one, Jeremiah didn't...  _he didn't seem to be doing well at all_. He was  way  too pale,  his eyes too empty, they looked… dead, like glass orbs, and it had taken too long for him to realize he was there. And  even  when he did, it had taken him a few moments for him to focus his attention on him.

Bruce had asked him if there was something wrong, but Jeremiah had said no, but it was evident that there was.

Even the escort guard, Jongleur, seemed worried about Jeremiah and if that wasn't a clue that something was wrong, Bruce didn't know what it was.  Even with that no one  wanted to answer his questions, always using the same excuse, the exact same excuse that they couldn't give him more information because he was not a relative of the patient.

_It was frustrating_ , but Bruce wouldn't let it stop him,  _he promised Jeremiah that he would help him and nothing, nothing would stop him from doing it._

Not even Alfred's disapproval when he used the 'power' of his name to get what he wanted, not even the fact that Selina, _really_ _why did_ _she_ _think_ she _could judge the twins for what they had done? She most of all should have understood that theirs had been a difficult situation_ , did not agree that he was spending so much of his time and resources trying to help Jeremiah, since he was the brother of the person he had sought to kill him.

It was as if she thought Bruce had forgotten  it. No,  he hadn't forgotten Jerome holding a knife to his throat,  he hadn't forgotten how, earlier, Jeremiah had handed it to Jerome smiling.

Bruce hadn't forgotten any of that. Just as he hadn't forgotten what  had  happened next,  after that, Galavan, his  own futile attempt to save Jerome from that man's blade, Jeremiah's reaction.  _And then what happened next._

Just as he did not forget the stories Jeremiah had told him about him and Jerome. The twins had also been…  _normal_ once, but life had decided to stop them from remaining so.

Bruce  didn’t consider them  culprits, criminals, but victims, victims of circumstances that seemed to want to do everything to make them executioners.

At least Captain Gordon, albeit to a small extent, agreed with him.

And Jongleur, the guard, was on his side.

Absently Bruce thought that a guard who had to do  their job shouldn't have been so attached and sympathetic to one of the patients. But that wasn't a problem for Bruce, at least so he was sure that someone inside Arkham would protect Jeremiah.

* * *

_ There was something he couldn't remember,  _ again _. _

Something important, something that he would explain because in the last week he had gone from not being able to answer Strange's questions smoothly to hearing his instinct yelling at him as soon as he tried not to.

_ There was something he couldn't remember. _

Pieces of his memories that seemed to be made of smoke and pain, he remembered the guards, without tokens, who took him to the Sanatorium, he remembered hearing Jonathan's voice and then it was all too vague and confused, and  when he tried  to force the memory, all he got was a vague feeling of nausea and the memory of having felt pain he had never felt before.

_ But nothing else. _

And it was frustrating him to no end as well as worry him, because the last time he was unable to remember something, even though he knew that something was important, the last time…  _he had lost Jerome_ . And while death didn't frighten him,  in fact  the thought of reuniting with his twin was more than comforting.

He couldn't die, not before he got his revenge. Not until  he heard Theo Galavan scream and plead, like the bastard that he was.

Not before having tortured the son of a bitch, breaking every single bone in his body, carefully dismembering him to be able to leave him alive for as long as possible.

Jeremiah had promised that after he had  him in his hands, they wouldn't even be able to recognize  him and he was keen to keep that promise.

He had to keep it,  _for Jerome_. Because he hadn't been able to protect him,  like he had promised to when they were kids, because he had let him down in a way he never wanted to let him down.

"You didn't heed my warnings, did you?"

For a moment or two Jeremiah hardly recognized the voice that had spoken to him, lower and scathing than usual, but he was still familiar enough that even with those differences, once he slipped out of his stream of thoughts, he could recognize  it.

"Your warnings?"

Jonathan gave him a look, first surprised then confused, which then became almost understanding before disappearing, hidden behind a cold, almost cruel look.

" You don’t remember them?" he asked, a hint of the disturbing smile on his lips, "How annoyed did you  make Strange, Jeremiah?"

"What he wants to know doesn't concern him, I won't tell him anything." Jeremiah replied, his voice lowering threateningly, while the hint of a smile that had no trace of warmth curled his lips.

Jonathan looked away from him, for a moment silence fell between them, interrupted only by the perpetual melody that rang out in the common room. And the distant  chime of an intercom that was activated but were too distant for the words to be clearly discernible. Jonathan kept his gaze away from him as long as he could before he had to meet  his gaze again,  the  _Scarecrow_ probably creeping to close to them for his comfort .

“Give him what he wants. For your own good. " Jonathan said, serious his voice steady even with the terror in his eyes, the _Scarecrow_ must have really got close to them, _too close_. “Patients who bother him too much disappear. And… really, I'd be sorry not to have someone around who can keep the Scarecrow at bay. "

Jeremiah gave the other a cold and empty  stare, one that he had perfected during his childhood, the ‘dead-stare’ he gave to everyone who was getting to close to irritate him with their lies .  Though a part of him wanted to believe that despite his words Jonathan cared about his presence, that he wasn't just using him to  scare the scarecrow  away as much as Jeremiah was using him to keep his boredom at bay, but the Valeska was above those  childish dreams,  _he had no friends, he had never had them._

_He never needed it._ Because he was born with his best friend by his side,  _Jerome had always been everything Jeremiah needed._

_A friend, a brother, someone to confide his deepest fears to, someone he could love with all his heart and who would never stab him in the back. Jerome was_ _his_ _other half. And now he was no longer there._

_ He would never be again. _

And the more  that thought repeated itself in his mind, the more the cold he constantly felt became stronger and more and more evident. 

"What Strange wants to know is personal, between me and my twin only." he said, trying to ward off the cold, focusing on the present, on Jonathan.  On the fact that he was in the common room and not in that horrid abyss that he saw in his  vivid  nightmares  that were by now an every night occurence.

“He will make you confess, you know that right? That or he’ll continue and continue with his _treatments_ , until your brain is too fried to even think. Is this what you want Jeremiah? _Become a vegetable?_ " Jonathan asked, the smile had returned to his lips, as well as the cruel light in his eyes, even though there was still terror in those icy irises. Jonathan was testing how hard he could push before making him react, Jeremiah could endure even worse insinuations than that. "Or maybe you don't care? Oh, you don't care, do you? Without Jerome-”

Jeremiah snapped, grabbing Jonathan by the neck, making him choke on the next words he was about to say. " Don’t . Don't  say it. Nobody here has the right to say my twin's name,  _nobody_ . "

No one moved, the patients in the common room looked at them, some already encouraging Jeremiah to let the situation  escalate, wanting the Valeska to entertain them with his special mark of violent entertainment, that they were missing since Jeremiah had come back alone , the guards around the containment cage, almost all with tokens, prevented those without tokens from intervening.

Jonathan put his hands on his wrist, and only then did Jeremiah realize that he was holding too tightly. He just wanted to warn Jonathan, not strangle him.

"Don't ever try to say  _my_ Jerome's name again, are we clear, Jon?"

The boy nodded, as best he could. Jeremiah let him go, just before the panic in Jonathan's eyes became too much.  Now, he knew what the limit was.

And like many things when it came to Jeremiah Valeska, his  limit was connected to Jerome.

.

After Jeremiah he had calmed down, as sudden as his anger had been, and remained so, calm and deep in thought, while Jonathan looked at him with the same terror he reserved for the  _Scarecrow_ , but without seeming to be on the verge of a crisis of terror.

He had stayed that way until he was taken away from the common room, headed for his next visit with Strange, which immediately caused his calm to melt into agitation.

And the obvious nervousness on Jongleur's face didn't help.

"Is there something wrong, Jongleur? Any hitch? " Jeremiah asked, his voice low to him.

The guard nodded. "The  braves… are about to free the spider, despite the protests of their white paladin…"

Jeremiah froze. His gaze snapped to the guard. " What ?" he said, his voice cold not a hint of emotion, just as every trace of emotion had left his face, except for his eyes which were burning with rage.

Jongleur continued to meet his gaze, still close to Jeremiah, to maintain an illusion that had already been broken by the lack of handcuffs on the Valeska. 

"Our black paladin and their white paladin tried to protest… but there wasn't enough evidence to keep the spider in  the cage."

For a moment the searing anger in Jeremiah's eyes gave way to a moment of curiosity. " The white paladin  is  on our side?"

Jongleur nodded. "Involuntarily yes."

Jeremiah nodded. "If the spider is free, let's go back to our previous plan to catch it."

"We will, you will have his heart Jeremiah."

Jeremiah gave the guard a look so cold yet not at all,  his eyes looking as if cold green flames were burning behind them ,  so unsettling that Jongleur nearly took a step back. “I don't want his heart, I want him. I want to make him suffer. I want to hear his screams as I tear him apart."

"And you will hear them, Jeremiah, you will hear them." 


	27. Chapter XXVI: I name thy Apophis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has finally the evidence he needs, sadly it’s already too late, someone got their hands on Galavan. Meanwhile Strange decides that he has waited enough, he’ll defang the snake or rebuild him from what remains.

In the end Jeremiah Valeska had been right.

It was not he who found Barbara, no matter how much  he sought her, but she who found him, one day too late for  him to prevent Theo Galavan's release.

After weeks of looking for her, in every corner of the city, Barbara had presented herself to  the department, letting them arrest her. By asking to speak to him, and despite  their reluctance to give in to a criminal's terms,  they had given her what she wanted.

And they got the information they needed, found the mayor, in a  stash house near the  docks area.

Mayor James's condition was…  _far from good_ , but it wasn't bad either, at least physically. Mentally, the man was in no condition remotely definable as good, just being able to calm him down when they found him was a feat. And the two paramedics who had been called in, after the  stash house was declared safe, had to sedate him and remove the metal box that Galavan had put around his head, it had been…  _difficult_ .

And the mayor would probably have had scars left by the metal rim at the bottom of the box around his neck. Along with various others left by the 'treatment' he had been subjected to, as they knew thanks to Jeremiah's confession,  by : Tabitha Galavan, Barbara Kean and the Valeska twins.

After his transport to the hospital, and the subsequent visits, it had taken hours to calm Mayor James, and reassure him enough that he would not end up in the hands of his torturers again, for him to be able to answer their questions.

And what they got was… _well, that Galavan was guilty of kidnapping and subsequent torture of the mayor at least_ . And some of what the mayor had told them corresponded perfectly to what Jeremiah Valeska had confessed almost two and a half months ago now.

Jim almost didn't know what to think of the fact that he now had another concrete confirmation that Jeremiah had told him the truth and only that. 

It was after the mayor's report that things had started to go wrong and Jim remembered something else Jeremiah had told him during his visit to the boy in Arkham.

‘ _She_ _hasn't forgiven you yet for canceling the marriage._ ’ Barbara and, Jim suspected they were, some of Galavan's men had taken him hostage and taken him to Gotham Cathedral.

And sadly the  resolution of that  situation had not been entirely successful, and Jim found himself only able to watch as Barbara fell from the cathedral tower and down to the ground.

_He had tried to save her. He had tried_ , but it had been  _too slow_ ,  _not strong enough_ ,  his grip on Barbara had not been tight enough to keep her from letting go.

And now Barbara was in critical condition, she probably wouldn't wake up.

Another person whose blood was on Jim's hands, along with that of the Valeska victims, and that of Jerome Valeska.

Theo Galavan might have been the one with the knife, but he was the one who sent the twins to Arkham, thus creating the situation that had allowed all of this to happen.

At least there was one thing he could do for the latter, or rather for the only survivor, to capture Theo Galavan and bring him to justice

But the Galavan had disappeared, probably hiding somewhere, safe, with his sister. While he was plotting how to kill Bruce – why he wanted that, Jim didn't know and Jeremiah didn't  have any answers–.

Although… perhaps Galavan's disappearance had not been so voluntary, judging by the conditions in which they had found the man's home.

Jim suspected he knew who had kidnapped Galavan, the only person in Gotham who had the resources to do so without calling favors from the mafia. The man who, if Butch Gilzean had told the truth, had lost his mother to Theo Galavan's machinations.

Jim needed to find Oswald Cobblepot if he wanted to make sure Galavan got into the hands of justice instead of down the Gotham River in pieces.

* * *

Theo Galavan could have been a great fighter, and surprisingly he was, but even with his skills he couldn't have overpowered a large number of opponents.

And luckily for the Cult, if there was one thing they had, besides eyes and ears all over the city, it was the numbers and everyone had been more than eager to get their hands on the bastard who had killed one of their leaders. So really the only difficulty that Jongleur had found in the plan had been to be able to reduce the numbers, so that they went unnoticed.

In the time it would take the GCPD to realize the man's disappearance, or to organize a search for an alleged fugitive. Galavan would have already been delivered to Jeremiah, tied up as a nice present.

Arkham had enough unused space on its lower floors for Jongleur and a few others to hide the bastard, unnoticed by the director, and the man  was also  going to be quite busy  in the next few weeks so getting Jeremiah  to his gift  shouldn’t be too difficult.

_The bastard would pay, oh if he would pay_ . Jongleur thought with an evil smile as he looked at their prisoner, with his arms  blocked with a straitjacket and tied to a chair in one of the remotest cells in the Arkham Asylum basement. The walls of the cubicle covered with cracked stucco and signs, concentric circles painted on the decrepit walls with ink, faded but still visible.

If Jongleur remembered correctly, this was said to have been, some time ago, the cell of Amadeus Arkham, founder of the Asylum, rumors also said that it was haunted.

Jongleur's smile widened as he stifled an amused chuckle at the thought. Well,  _at least the bastard would be in good company, until they could bring Jeremiah to him._

Meanwhile Galavan had begun to regain consciousness.

"Don't waste energy struggling, it's useless." the guard said, amused, his voice echoing  eerily in the empty, dusty corridors of the abandoned section of the asylum, echoing ominously in the concrete cubicle. Galavan tried to say something, only to find that he couldn't –Jongleur and his people had been careful to make sure there was no way the bastard could have escaped, or could have hurt himself before Jeremiah had a free rein to do what he wanted.–. The guard chuckled, holding back a half shiver in hearing the distorted echo of his  own voice.

The abandoned section was quite creepy even though he knew he was perfectly alone there, apart from the bastard of course.

"Don't even  try yourself to speak, we've made sure you can't." he informed him, Galavan in response tried to free himself with even more energy, Jongleur chuckled once more.  _The spider was trapped in someone else's web and he couldn't free himself, it was really fun to watch him suffer like that_ , especially after what he had done to the twins.

Jongleur hoped that his gift would help Jeremiah at least a little, God only knew how much the boy needed something to distract him from his suffering and from Strange's 'treatments'.

The guard had seen other patients end up in the Director's care, and at the moment, despite how frequently Jeremiah had begun to dissociate himself from reality, the Valeska was the person who had endured the most sessions. The others were usually either already reduced to vegetables or very close to being so.

Jongleur, honestly, couldn't help but respect how resilent the boy was, and at the same time, he couldn't help but want to put his hands around Strange's neck and strangle him for what he was doing to him, as if Jeremiah Valeska hadn't already suffered enough.

With a last glance at Galavan who was still unsuccessfully trying to free himself, through the window of the heavy armored door of the cell, Jongleur closed the window and left the abandoned section.

* * *

The doctor hadn't wanted to get this far, really. He hated risking the mind of such an interesting subject as Jeremiah Valeska's was, but he had been forced to.

Hypnosis after the ECT sessions did not work, even if the voltage was slightly higher than recommended.

Jeremiah's stamina would have simply been another point in favor of him being interesting to him, were it not that it was also extremely annoying. At least his brother, even though he had not yet undergone the Rebirth Project, was cooperating better with his treatments.

Although perhaps that 'collaboration' was due to the fact that he was still dead and as such he could not resist, he doubted that Jerome didn’t possess the same stubborness as his twin, he really doubted it.

"Jeremiah, can you hear me?" he asked him, his voice cold and distant, though it hid a trace of genuine curiosity, so far he had tested this substance only with the subjects of the Rebirth Project, and not with anyone who was still alive.

Jeremiah, tied to that same table that had seen his first ECT session, gave no sign of hearing his words, his glassy, distant gaze fixed on nothingness. Right now if it weren't for the movement of his chest, Strange would have thought it was Jerome.

There was not a single trace of anything even remotely comparable to something alive in those eyes.  _Nothing_ .

_ A complete emptiness. _

.

.

_ Interesting.  _

The doctor went on with some routine tests, testing the instinctive reflexes and the reaction of his pupils to light and while the first brought positive results, the second showed a complete absence of reactions. Neither the intensity nor the proximity of the light seemed to cause a dilation or contraction of the pupil.

Strange wondered if the boy was even aware of what was going on, perhaps the substance, which in the subjects of the Rebirth was intended to facilitate the reactivation of the nerves, in a live subject had the opposite effect, as if it was a super-anesthetic.

Or maybe Jeremiah was perfectly conscious and this reaction was due to that mysterious bond he had with his twin, maybe the presence of the same substance that Strange had been inoculating his twin for weeks, in his blood had trapped him in a sort of  _sensory loop_ .

_ Uh, this was something he should have tested later. _

A sudden movement attracted the doctor's attention, Jeremiah's gaze had shifted and was now definitely aimed at him.

"Jeremiah?"

_ No reaction. _

Although it was clear that the boy recognized his name, which meant that the substance did not cause amnesia in living subjects.

Or if he did, the results weren't as bad as they were with the Rebirth project subjects.

"Can you hear me, Jeremiah?"

The boy tried to nod, as if he did not remember that he could not do it insured as he was at the operating table.

So maybe it did affect memory in living subjects too, or maybe it was simply the residual effects of his most recent ECT session.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked him, but the boy gave no reaction. His eyes distant and empty. Perhaps trying that substance combined with an ECT session had not been a good idea, even though the boy's reactions were allowing him to have a vague idea of a living subject's reactions to something that was created to be administered only to subjects who they should have been brought back to life.

The doctor asked a few more questions, but Jeremiah didn't answer any of them, and, more curiously, had stopped answering his name as well.

"Do you know who you are?" Strange asked, when the boy's gaze focused again. There was no definite reaction to the question, so the doctor tried to call him by his name, but Jeremiah didn't seem to recognize it.

A cold smile curled Dr. Hugo Strange's lips, this was the opportunity he was waiting for.

* * *

Everything seemed to happen from behind a veil, confused shadows upon confused shadows. Even what he was sure he knew about himself was distant, hidden behind another ineffable veil.

But man, the only shadow defined in that blurred world he saw, kept talking to him. To call him by the same name: _Apophis, was that his name?_

_No, no, it didn't feel right. It didn't sound like him_ , but the more the man talked about snakes and Chaos and violence, about spilled blood and poison, the more familiar he seemed. Maybe his name was really that,  _Apophis_ .

_ The great snake. _

His memories of him might be distant, but he remembered snakes, huge and heavy with sharp fangs. He remembered snakes hissing and  showing their fangs every time he tried to touch them.

_ The man also spoke of a brother and salt and pure water. Ra. _

_ The sun. _

_ The sun, yes that… that seemed right. That was his brother, like it had always been so. _

_ The light to his the darkness. _

_ The sun that brought life. _

_ His everything . _

_ But the man continued talking and talking about a battle. And Apophis was sure that he would never hurt his brother and that his sun would never attack him. _

_ That was wrong. _

_ A lie. _

_ Like the ones the snake woman hissed in  his memories. _

_ Would Apophis never hurt  his … his twin? _

_ He would never hurt him, ever. So why did the man keep insisting that he had done it? _

Apophis threw a cold look at the man who stopped talking, telling those lies.

"Jeremiah?" the man asked. And Apophis had no idea who he was talking about, even if that name… _that name seemed right_ .

_ So who was he? Apophis or Jeremiah? Jeremiah or Apophis? _

_ The great snake, the darkness. Where was his sun? _

_ Where was Ra? _

_ No, not Ra…. Jerome. _

Apophis-Jeremiah's eyes widened.  _Jerome. Where was Jerome?!_

The man, Doctor Strange, shook his head as if disappointed.

"We will try again in our next visit." 


	28. Chapter XXVII: The Great Snake’s bite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah(Apophis?) may not be sure of his identity, and what his name, is, but sure as hell he wasn’t gonna let the killer of his brother Jerome(Ra?) remain unpunished. The spider is gonna know the painful bite of the snake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slight Blood and Gore and Psychological Torture, in this chapter.

Jeremiah,  _or was it Apophis? He wasn't sure_ , _Strange was the only one to call him that_ , the rest from Jongleur to the patients (those few who knew his name) called him 'Jeremiah', some only 'Valeska'.

The visits with the doctor had become almost daily in the last few days, even though Jeremiah couldn't remember much of what happened during the visits, if his memories of those visits before were fleeting as sand now they were like smoke, he had no idea  of what sense to give to the smoky and  vague shadows he remembered.

And his nightmares had become more frequent and vivid, the black and icy abyss that now moved and  writhed like hundreds of snakes knotted together by the tail. Hissing and hissing until Jeremiah could hear them even during the waking hours, a continuous sound that infiltrated his thoughts and almost  didn’t allow him to clear his mind, between one visit and another.

Fortunately, Strange seemed to be busy with something else for the time being, and Jeremiah hadn't had any contact with the doctor for two full days, which was a good thing from his point of view, and he really hoped he'd have more than two days  ad a break from whatever infernal treatment –which for some reason he could not remember– he  was submitted to  by the psychiatrist .

Another positive was that Jonathan had finally been given permission again to join the rest of the patients at meals and recreation hours, following his most recent bout of terror. That Jeremiah was pretty sure had been caused by his threat rather than by the  _Scarecrow_ .

A bad thing was that the blue-eyed boy, perfect as a doll… Jeremiah frowned, he knew that boy's name, of course he knew  it … Bruce,  _Bruce Wayne_ . The only one who had ever tried to do  something for them, that he had tried to save Jerome ( _Ra? That was another point on which he_ _wasn’t all that sure_ ) from the spider, Theo, even though he had failed. Bruce hadn't come to visit him this week, or if he had, Jeremiah couldn't remember  it at all.

"Strange put a strain on you, huh?"

Jeremiah refocused on the present, Jonathan across the table moving his 'oatmeal' or whatever it was that lumpy substance they served with his spoon, apparently more interested in his answer than to eat.

Jeremiah shrugged.

"I guess so, it's not like  I remember  all that much about what happens during visits."

Jonathan  nodded , taking a spoonful of  oatmeal , before a slightly sarcastic smile curled his lips. “I told you not to push  him too hard. And now you're in the same boat as the rest of us. "

"It's not like  I was trying to avoid it, Jon." Jeremiah said, after finishing his tasteless  oatmeal . Jonathan  hummed low in , before slipping back into his usual, slightly anxious state of silence.

"Honestly," the other began suddenly breaking the silence that had fallen between them, his ice-colored eyes fixed on Jeremiah, "the only good thing about Strange's 'treatment' is that for the following week I can eat  _this stuff_ " a brief expression of disgust appeared on his face for a chin " with  no problem. "

"It's not that bad." 

Jonathan gave him an incredulous look. "' _It's not that bad'_ ? Really?"

Jeremiah nodded. "It sure is better than the soup we had at the circus." he said in response.

"Oh, right you and…" Jonathan's voice  faded in silence , as if he were worried about his reaction to the fact that he had almost mentioned Jerome, after a long moment seeing that Jeremiah didn't seem to want to strangle him like last time he went on. “…  _him_ lived in a circus. How  was it ?"

Jeremiah  didn’t answer immediately, his gaze becoming distant as he remembered what his life had been like up until that day when Lila had made him and Jerome lose  their temper, remembered all they had endured, the abuse, the unreasonable and unjustified hatred of all members of the circus towards them.

But he also remembered him and Jerome,  that having finished their  works around the circus, they left  it to explore the city or the place where they had stopped. He remembered himself and his twin lying on a sunny field –somewhere in Georgia, even though his memory wasn't perfect enough at the moment to let him remember where exactly– he remembered him and Jerome secretly playing with  Lila’s snakes, never afraid of those scaly beasts.

He remembered him and Jerome promising to live their whole life together…

"Not as idyllic as they make it look in the movies, Jon." he finally replied, forcing himself to let go of those memories, not wanting to show any weakness to the other patient.

"I never thought it was idyllic, honestly." Jonathan said, before an indefinable half smile curled his lips. "Although I thought about running away with the circus when I was younger… when,  yeah , when my father started… maybe I should have."

A laugh, dry and bitter with no trace of amusement, left Jeremiah. "No, someone like  _you_ ? In a place like  _Haly's_ ? They would have eaten you alive, Jonny-boy. "

Jonathan gave him a cold look, for the first time since Jeremiah had spoken to Jonathan for the first time there was no trace of fear in his eyes.

"I'm not weak, or fragile, Jeremiah."

“Never said you were, Jon. But Haly's… it's a whole other story. " Jeremiah said, and perhaps it was his tone or the sharp look he gave him, clearly indicating that this was another thing that could push him over the edge, because Jonathan didn't reply.

.

The rest of their meal was passed in silence, barring the occasional comment about how terrible and depressing Arkham was, and then he and Jon were split up again.

Fortunately, his escort was made up of guards who all had tokens on their wrists and Jongleur, so Jeremiah was pretty sure he wasn't being taken to another visit with the psychiatrist, and straight to the common room.

Or so he thought until he realized he didn't recognize anything about where they were. The corridors went from the clearly not well maintained but still presentable ones Jeremiah knew well by this point, to dusty and clearly neglected corridors.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked him, his tone firm, even as he was beginning to feel agitated and worried. Jeremiah, on  some level, trusted Jongleur but not enough for this not to start arousing suspicion.

"The spider has been caught, Jeremiah." Jongleur said instead of answering his question and Jeremiah could clearly hear the cruel grin that must have been on his face.

The boy's eyes widened, surprise evident in his irises, but not in his expression as he realized what Jongleur's words meant.

"You mean that…?"

"The spider is waiting for you… and the others and I have provided you with what we could to be able to  _play_ with him as much as you want."

Jeremiah smiled, cruel, cold, the reptilian smile of a viper baring its fangs. In his eyes the burning fire of anger and revenge. Jeremiah may not be exactly sure what his identity was at the moment, or if Jeremiah and Jerome were his and his twin's real names, or if their names were indeed Apophis and Ra, but nothing would stop him from obtaining  his revenge on the man who had killed  his twin and left him in this horrid situation.

The corridors around them, as they descended into the basement in the abandoned section, became narrower and colder, empty of any sign of life even the lights, although present, seemed to have changed somehow, more faint and some flickered, leaving them at random intervals in complete darkness.

Finally, after walking for what seemed like hours in that empty dusty corridor, Jeremiah and his  guards stopped in front of the only locked cell that was present in the block. Jongleur positioned himself to the side of the heavy metal door, a smile curled his lips, and  with an amused and decidedly cruel light in his eyes.

Another guard, with a helmet, did the same by positioning himself on the other side, the remaining guard remained behind him.

Jongleur  knocked, or well more like slammed his fist, against the door, as he normally would have done to warn a patient that he was about to open the door, but unlike usual there was an amused smile on his face. The sound echoed around them, distorting in the corridors and resounding almost like the lament of a lost soul, a muffled sound could be heard coming from inside the cell.

" _What_ _Amadeus_ _wasn’t_ _good company, Theo?_ " the guard asked as he unlocked the door with a screech of almost rusty metal. Jeremiah waited impatiently for the door to open. Though curious as to why Jongleur asked their prisoner that question.

With a push with two hands, and with the wail of the hinges, the heavy door swung open.

Theo Galavan was there, not even  nine feet  away from him, with a straitjacket, tied to the chair and with a kind of leather half mask that prevented him from speaking.

From the slight semi-imperceptible tremor that shook him it was evident that he hadn't been able to move from that position for a while, enough to start to be a nuisance… perhaps,  even,  to be  _painful_ .

Jeremiah felt his smile widen as he saw the Galavan widen his eyes, as if he had only just realized the hands he was in.

“Hey, Theo. Did you miss me?" Jeremiah asked, sarcastically as he walked into the cell, the smile on his lips so wide it must have been painful, not that the boy cared. Pure and simple desire for revenge that ran in his blood, making him heedless of anything other than making Theo Galavan _suffer_. "I'll take that as a no." he said, before turning to Jongleur. "So… where are _the toys_ that I can use on Theo?"

Jongleur nodded to the guard with the helmet that he probably left to take the tools they had prepared for this occasion. Meanwhile Jeremiah motioned for the other guard to enter the cell, after noticing that in the wall opposite the door in the cell there was a metal ring set high enough that if they handcuffed Theo there it would force him to remain standing.

Jeremiah glanced at the guard.

"Um, Jasper, sir."

Jeremiah rolled his eyes. " _Jasper_ , could you help me untie our dear spider here?"

The guard gave him a confused look. "Are… you sure?"

Jeremiah didn't respond and gave him a cold enough look that Jasper blanched and immediately went to work. Jongleur asked with a simple look if they needed help. Jeremiah just shook his head.

As he expected as soon as his legs were released, Theo tried to get up and failed miserably due to the fact that his muscles were too sore from staying in that chair for too long, Jeremiah chuckled at his unsuccessful escape attempt. 

"You  really thought I'd untie you if I thought you had a chance, huh?" he asked, as he pulled him up with a violent tug on the sleeve of his straitjacket, a muffled moan left the mask. "Oh? It hurts…?  _What a_ _shame_ " said these words Jeremiah gave him another tug, not bothering to try to stabilize the man as he practically dragged him towards the wall, easily thwarting his weakened victim's attempts to break his grip.

And Theo tried to free himself, with all his strength, but seeing how sore his muscles were he couldn't overcome the boy.

"Jasper," Jeremiah called, "Help me take off his straitjacket, then handcuff him there," he said, indicating the metal ring fixed to the wall with a nod. The guard immediately went to work after a single nod. Theo tried to become more unmanageable as soon as his arms were almost free, but unlike the Mr.  Millionaire , Jeremiah could move faster, so he avoided the blow and grabbed the straitjacket's sturdy sleeve and pulled Theo towards him before smiling violent,  and taking advantage of the imbalance he slammed him against the wall, always using his sleeve as a grip. Laughing at the strangled half-cry that left his victim's mouth.

"Oh, poor,  _poor Theo…_ what has no one ever  roughhoused you ?" the boy laughed once more, pulling Theo forward again, Jeremiah saw the man preparing to be  slammed again against the wall, but  Jeremiah didn't do  that instead pulling him forward again and taking a step aside when he saw him losing balance.

Jasper and Jongleur joined in his amused laughter as the proud Galavan fell to the ground, the leather mask banging violently against the concrete, further drowning out any sound that might have left his mouth.

Still laughing Jeremiah and Jasper pulled him to his feet, finishing what they had started and handcuffing him to the wall so that he had his back to them.

At that moment the guard with the helmet arrived, carrying a  tiered  trolley, of those that usually were in the surgery rooms, on the upper  tray there were surgical instruments although not in perfect condition, not that Jeremiah cared, the only thing that he wanted to do was hurt that bastard.

_Make him suffer for having_ _taken away from him_ _his twin, his sun._

And in the lower one a reel of spiky cord and what looked like a truncheon –?– ending with two small curved metal points that reminded him of the fangs of a snake.

"Jasper, take his muzzle off and then  get back … I've decided what I want to use first." Valeska said, reaching down to take the reel of cable and pulling enough to use it as a whip, the sharp nylon edges glinting under the dim light of the cell.

Jasper removed the half mask.

"You'll regret it, Jeremiah." Theo said, as soon as he had his chance to speak returned, his voice low and dark. "You don't know who you're up against-" whatever he was about to say, probably a threat or  the more common " _you don't know who you're up against_ ", he faded into a scream as Jeremiah threw the first whip with the  cord .

The sharp spirals along the cord that left long deep scratches on his back, which almost immediately began to bleed. 

Jeremiah smiled and squeezed the  cord a little more, until he felt the sharp edges almost trying to cut his skin too. Then he pulled his arm back and threw another  lash , and then another, Theo's screams mingled with his laughter.

"Oh,  _come on_ ! This is nothing, it's just three lashes. " Jeremiah said, his voice trembling slightly from the cruel laughter that threatened to leave his mouth once more.

_Another_ _lash_ _._

Another cut, the man's back rapidly dyeing red, the gray shirt he was wearing ruined by gashes and soaked with blood.

Jeremiah cracked his whip once and then twice, the sound was not as satisfying as the cracking of a real whip but the drops of blood leaving the nylon coils ending up everywhere were enough to make him ignore the missed cracking.

And then another  lash and another and another and another and another and  _another_ , Jeremiah continued until he was sure he hadn't even left a spot where if he would give a whip it wouldn't get worse one of the cuts he had left.

Theo's voice had become more hoarse and scratchy, but this didn't stop the man from trying to threaten him again, when the whipping stopped.

" _Pathetic_ ." Jeremiah hissed as he approached the Galavan, running a hand over the cuts, scratching them, ripping another half-cry from the bastard. "Not even fifteen lashes and you've already lost your voice."

The redhead walked away before Theo had the bright idea of trying to headbutt him or something, wiping his hand on a cloth that the helmeted guard handed him.

"Jongleur."

"Yes, Jeremiah?"

A poisonous smile curled Jeremiah's lips. “Make sure Theo  survives till tomorrow. I want to take my time with my gift. "

Jongleur nodded, chuckling briefly, his smile for a moment almost a reflection of the one on  the  Valeska's face.

The helmeted guard took the  trolley away and the four, once Jongleur closed the metal door, left the abandoned section.

.

.

.

That same scene repeated itself for days, for every day Strange left Jeremiah alone, Jongleur would take him to the abandoned section, to take his revenge.

Every day Theo threatened him as soon as they arrived, and sometimes if he still had a voice, after Jeremiah was done with torturing him.

Jeremiah simply shook his head and insulted the bastard, telling him how ' _pathetic_ ' he was and _how he could not bear with dignity the things that Jeremiah had learned to endure when he was a child_ .

After each session, Jongleur sent a nurse who was part of the  Cult to take care of the wounds that Jeremiah had inflicted, just enough to keep them from becoming infected and nothing more.

Slowly, Theo, constantly locked in a cold cell with no contact with the outside, only the faint light of an old bulb to illuminate the darkness, and with time marked only by Jeremiah's visits, began to lose all hope that  the  Order or Tabitha come to save him.

Not even repeating the verses and dictates of the Order when he was alone was enough to keep his morale high.

His only constant... _Jeremiah_. Jeremiah and the torment.

_ As if he had ended up in hell… _

_ Maybe he did or maybe he ended up in the  Great Snake's lair. _

_\---_

"Stop… please… it’s… it’s enough... I-I'm sorry... "

Jeremiah stopped as if petrified as he heard that word, the snake-fanged baton pointed at the base of Theo's neck.

But it wasn't the misery in his victim's voice that stopped him, it wasn't some absurd form of guilt but… that _word_.

That ' _enough_ ' that for a moment sent him back to the Gala to that ' _I said:_ _Enough_ ' before Theo stabbed his twin.

_ His sun ,  his everything .  His Jerome . _

_"_ _It’s_ _enough?_ I don't think so, son of a bitch. " Jeremiah growled as he pushed  the Fangs where he had aimed them before. Theo didn't scream but it was clear that he hadn't done it just because he didn't have the strength to.

Jeremiah pulled the Fangs back and pointed them  elsewhere, always making sure it was a point with plenty of  nerves and pressed.

_ Again and again and again. _

Leaving many small marks that looked like snake bites on his victim's body.

"Please…" a half whisper was all that Theo could force his voice into.

Jeremiah felt a reptilian smile curl his lips as he walked back to the  trolley putting down his Fangs and picking up a scalpel, the blade slightly rusty but sharp.

"Say it again." he said, approaching his victim who was enveloped in the smell of old blood and disinfectant instead of his precious cologne, mixed with the slight sweet smell of an infection that was beginning.

His body covered with cuts, – some fresh, others barely scabbed and others red and raised–, and marks, –  some from the lashes, others from the scalpel or from the Fangs– , and bruises – some that were starting to lighten and other still blood red– .

"Please…  _stop_ ." whispered the man.

Jeremiah's smile widened as he placed the scalpel against Theo's carotid artery,  barely applying any  pressure  which was still enough to cut. The boy was almost mesmerized watching the ease with which  the skin parted under the sharp blade.

" _Stop_ , you say?" Jeremiah hissed, at that moment feeling every bit like the god of Chaos and the blood and violence that Strange said he was. “You killed my twin. Why should I give you leniency? "

“One… one of you had to die…” Theo whispered with difficulty, “for Bruce… Wayne to fall into my trap. It… it was nothing personal… "

“Nothing personal, huh? You ripped out my heart, took away _my most precious treasure_ and you say it was nothing personal?! " Jeremiah took a breath, the smell of blood and infection seemingly getting stronger. “Maybe it wasn't for you… but for _me_. Oh, Theo, Theo, _Theo_ … you have made yourself an enemy you couldn't hope to defeat." A smile curled his lips. "You should have hired a hitman to get rid of me… but oh, well, I guess not doing so was your last mistake."

And without a word more, Jeremiah stuck the scalpel in his neck, leaving it where it was instead of pulling it out. Thus limiting bleeding.

"Don't send anyone, Jongleur." Jeremiah said as he left the cell. "Let the bastard die slowly."

.

.

A few hours later Jongleur and another guard returned to take the body away, which they transported to Gotham Harbor. Pulling it out of the van in which they had transported it and leaving it on the dock, instead of throwing it into the river.

Jongleur went back into the van for a moment, to retrieve a dark purple umbrella, which looked  almost far  too elegant,  the ending of the handle looking almost like a penguin’s head . Smiling the Arkham guard planted the umbrella in the corpse's throat.

.

.

The next morning when the body was found, it  didn’t take long for Jim, who had been called as Captain-in-Chief of the Galavan case, to figure out who  had been the killer .

The umbrella was the only proof he needed. After all, there was only one criminal in all of Gotham who had such a recognizable umbrella as a weapon and who had the possibility and reason to kill Galavan with all that violence.

_ Oswald Cobblepot had killed Theo Galavan.  _


	29. Chapter XXVIII: A Killer Cult you can trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After weeks passed in search of his parents killer, and a failed attempt on his life, Bruce ends up discovering way more that he had bargained for and surprisingly, somehow, the only way to find this ‘Matches’ Malone is through… _Jeremiah_?
> 
> Or Bruce gets his Valeskas Cult token… and that may change _everything_ or nothing at all.

Getting Alfred to let him go to Arkham for his weekly visit to Jeremiah had been…  _complicated_ .  Though he understood the motives, this time he really understood them, because it wasn't just distrust of Jeremiah, but it was concern that something… might happen  _again_ .

That some of the survivors of that Order, acting under Galavan's orders, would try to capture him again. Sacrifice it again with the excuse of doing it to purify Gotham, or… it was resurrecting their perfect killer, Azrael. Bruce wasn't sure… it's not as if he had paid particular attention to the ramblings of that fanatic who wanted to kill him while he was trying to free himself from the grip of the two who were holding him back. Fortunately, Captain Gordon and his partner and Alfred had arrived in time.

_ He had been so close to... _

Bruce shook his head, as if trying to push the thought away,  _he was safe now_ . The Order of St. Dumas had been largely eliminated, perhaps completely (it wasn't as if they could ask Galavan),  he was safe. As safe as he could be in a city like Gotham.

Even with that, with that, however thin, reassurance, Bruce couldn't help but feel nervous.

_ Not being able to stop thinking about what might have happened if Captain Gordon wasn't watching him, if Bruce hadn't believed Jeremiah's warning, if he hadn't taken those precautions, now he would be… _

_ No. _

He had to stop thinking about hypothetical scenarios,  _it hadn't happened_ . He was safe, safe and well.

Or well as well could  he be after an attempt on his life and after…  _discovering that what had happened in Crime Alley years ago was no coincidence._

_ It was no accident. _

_ That someone had hired a hitman. And Galavan had somehow found out. Bruce was almost happy that he didn't have to confront this man to get the information he now had. _

Bruce had only one name: 'Patrick' Matches' Malone. And no idea where to find it, well,  _almost_ no idea.

_ And yes, maybe he also had another reason for going to visit Jeremiah so soon after what had happened with the Order. _

_ He really hoped Jeremiah didn't think he had forgotten his promise to visit him whenever he could. _

* * *

The first thing Bruce noticed when Jeremiah arrived in the  visitation room was that he was even paler than the last time he had seen him, almost to the point of looking sick, but unlike the last time, his gaze was attentive, focused, if tired  and a little dull , even if there was something… as if he were happy about something, no, not 'happy' but  _satisfied_ .

Bruce was happy to see that Jeremiah had recovered at least a little. He'd been really worried ever since he'd seen him so out of focus, so far from reality, as if he was slowly losing all reason to stay  here .

"Hey, Brucie," the other greeted him as soon as he took his seat, a small smile on his lips, his voice always with that same soft tone, which Bruce had noticed Jeremiah reserved only for him. The smile soon faded into a frown. "You didn't come to see me last week, or the one before."

The small smile that had made its way onto Bruce's lips at Jeremiah's greeting disappeared with those words, with the expression on the other's face. Bruce looked down. "It… it wasn't voluntary, I would never have missed one of our visits if I could have avoided it."

"Did something happen, Bruce?" Jeremiah asked, there was a hint of concern in his tone, not a trace of distrust, as if Jeremiah, the same Jeremiah who had talked to him about how he and Jerome always expected to be deceived or otherwise used, trusted Bruce to the point of not suspecting, of considering his every word as true.

That realization erased any possible thought of not telling Jeremiah what had happened that had occurred in his mind.  _He could not betray the trust that the other was giving him._

"Galavan was… the leader of a sect." he began, trying to keep his voice steady, to chase away the memory of that man, that Father Creel, who stood above him pointing a knife at him while he was reciting something… like the words of a ritual. Jeremiah watched him intently, but didn't push him to continue, letting him continue when he could. "That sect kidnapped me, they… they tried to…" a pause. Jeremiah's gaze that became dark, violent, angry not towards him but towards the Order.

“ _I'll kill them all_. Every single, vile son of a bitch who works for that bastard. " snarled the Valeska, his words steeped in poison, but a promise. A promise that he would keep at any cost. 

And Bruce, despite considering murder and crime wrong, felt almost comforted by the  redhead’s words.

"You must not. They're all dead already, Captain Gordon made sure they were. "

A half-smile, dark and satisfied, curled the Valeska's lips. "Good. At least Jimbo did something right. " he said in a half murmur. There was a strange light in his look as he said those words, but Bruce didn't know how to interpret it. Then the smile and the glitter faded, Jeremiah's expression softening, so much so that Bruce remembered how  it had  softened when he talked about his twin. "If you want, Brucie, we can talk about something else. You don't have to tell me anything,  nothing you don't want. "

Bruce made a small nod, whispering a ' _thank you_ ' to the older boy. As he tried to chase away the memory, the knife, the chants, Bruce had been so sure he wouldn't get out of there alive. So certain and terrified, even though he had tried to fight, to escape.

Silence fell between them, not uncomfortable but in a sense almost comforting. Jeremiah who was giving him plenty of time to recover. To drive away those recent memories.

"But… there is something that has happened in these two weeks that I want to talk to you about." Bruce said breaking the silence. "I have, I found out who…  killed my parents " he continued in a whisper. Not wanting anyone to hear his words, even though he knew the cameras in the  visitation room weren't working.

"Oh? And what are you going to do? "

"Find him and… avenge  them myself." he replied without a moment's hesitation.

A smile curled Jeremiah's lips,  slightly intimidating, even though Bruce knew it wasn't meant for him. “Oh, Brucie. I'd  love to be with you when you do… "he said, his voice low and conspiratorial,  and light as if the murder wasn't something terrible but… simply something doable. “Shoot him between the eyes if you want to be merciful, or in the heart if you want him to suffer for what he did to you… Unless you…want to use a knife? I can suggest a couple of things for that. "

Bruce was silent for a few moments, it's not exactly that he forgot Jeremiah was a killer, but it was so alienating to see someone who could be so sweet  and caring get so cold, talking about ways to take someone's life as if it were the most normal of the world.

"First… I have to find him." Bruce said, noticing the look Jeremiah was giving him, the other nodded. "And I heard that maybe… you could help me?"

" Me ?" Jeremiah asked confused, Bruce was as confused as he was. But this was what they had told him, what he had heard while he was trying to find 'Matches' alone. “Oh… Oh.  _My friends_ , they can help you. "

"Your friends?"

Jeremiah didn't answer, only giving him a smirk. “Don't worry, Brucie. They will help you. " 

But before Bruce could ask for an explanation, their time ran out.

.

"Mister Wayne." a voice called him as he was about to leave the Arkham entrance, Bruce turned. It was the guard, Agent Palmer.

"Agent Palmer, can I help you with anything?" Bruce asked as the guard approached.

"No, no. You dropped this. " the guard answered, handing him something, it looked like a metal  token and something else hidden by the  token . Bruce  was about to tell him they weren't his, but the guard just shook his head, with a smirk that Bruce recognized, albeit slightly different.

He had seen it many times on another face.  _It was Jeremiah's smirk_ .

Bruce took the disk and the other object,  _a folded piece of paper?_ , and thanked the guard. Before leaving the Asylum. Alfred was waiting for him outside the building.

Bruce hid the  token and the note in his pocket and then got into the car, answering Alfred's questions. A slight smile on his lips as he talked to him about Jeremiah, albeit hiding the part where they talked about 'Matches'.

.

Arriving at the Manor, and returning to his father's study, Bruce allowed himself to check the items the guard had given him.

The metal  token was smooth on one side and with an imprinted expression on the other, a pair of menacing eyes and a red smile.

And the folded piece of paper that had written only three sentences inside: ' _Celestial Garden. Ask for Jeri. PS: Take the token with you._ '

' _My friends, they will help you,_ ' Jeremiah said.  _Was this Jeri a friend of_ _his_ _? And the guard, Jongleur Palmer, he had given him the token and the paper, was he one of Jeremiah's 'friends'?_

Oddly, the thought that the guard protecting him was someone who, perhaps, worked for Jeremiah reassured him more than it worried him. After all, the other guards had almost let Jeremiah be murdered.

_ Bruce knew where to go. _

* * *

Sneaking out of the Manor had been as easy as usual. Although Bruce had been more hesitant than normal, for a moment undecided whether or not to bring  with him the gun he had asked Selina to get him (he had taken it in the end), reaching Celestial Garden, on the other hand, had taken quite a bit  of  time, fortunately he had decided to leave the Manor in the late afternoon or would probably arrive at dawn instead of overnight.

Celestial Garden seemed like a normal venue, the music he could hear didn't seem all that different from what he had heard in other goth clubs, or at least it had seemed so until he heard a familiar laugh, accompanied by another. Jerome and Jeremiah's laughter echoing muffled  from the club.

If Bruce had any doubts,  _he now had none_ .

With the token in sight, like a medallion hanging in front of his chest, Bruce approached the club. The man at the entrance, the  bouncer, let him in immediately after seeing the token, a smile on his lips  familiar  and yet not at the same time.

Inside the venue, there were people of all kinds and genders, dressed in various Maniax’ paraphernalia, although Bruce was sure he had seen at least one or two cops in the mix.

On the stage, located at the end of the  dancefloor, a band played and behind them a loop of the video that Jerome and Jeremiah had taken after the attack on the GCPD.

Even with the violence depicted in the video, Bruce couldn't help but feel a  twinge of sadness at seeing Jeremiah so happy, even though his face was blank in the way it was when he wanted to present only his mask, alongside his twin.

The gaze of many, the closest to the entrance, fell on him, almost threatening or so it seemed to the boy, before they noticed the token he wore around his neck.

Meanwhile the band on stage was finishing their song set and Bruce realized that he had no idea where to find this 'Jeri', not knowing exactly how to look for  him without attracting too much attention. Bruce approached the bar counter, the bartender, dressed in what looked like a replica of the straitjackets that the Maniax had worn when they hitched up the bus, there gave him a half-smile, once again familiar yet not at all.

" Sorry , little prince, we don't serve drinks  to  minors here." she said, her voice loud enough to be heard over the music but not too loud.

"I'm not here to order anything…" Bruce said "I wanted to know if you knew where I can find a certain 'Jeri'?"

The bartender's smile just widened. “ Yes, I know where you can find her, she's there on stage. I think you'll have to wait a bit, little prince. "

Bruce looked up at the stage as he replied, "Then it's a good thing I'm not in a hurry."

That caused a little laugh from the bartender.

After that and another brief conversation, the only thing Bruce could do was wait, fortunately not for much longer, before the band finished the set and the singer, Jeri, joined them. Apparently, despite Bruce trying not to attract too much attention, someone present had noticed who he was looking for.

The smile already present on the woman's lips widened when she noticed the token around  his neck. "Welcome to the family, little prince."

Bruce was for a moment puzzled and confused which must have shown on his face because the woman laughed at his expression, again it was a familiar thing even if in a situation that was not at all, and Bruce did not feel insulted, all at most  he had to hold back an embarrassed smile from folding his lips. "Uh, thanks?"

Jeri waved a hand, as if mimicking a  mock bow. “I heard you were looking for me. How can I help you?" 

Bruce didn't answer immediately, looking around for a moment, no one seemed to be listening but you could never be too sure.

"Oh, so it's _that kind_ of help." Jeri said, as she leaned against the counter,  the smile on her lips taking a barely amused note. “Don't worry, little prince. Nobody will say anything, so just ask. "

“I’m here to find out where to find Matches Malone. Jeremiah said you would help me. " he said, a series of surprised gasps left the mouth of some around them, confirming the fact that they were listening to their conversation, as soon as he said Jeremiah’s name, Jeri, for her part, only seemed slightly surprised.

"Why are you looking for Matches?" the woman asked, seeming genuinely interested in  his possible answer. Meanwhile, the bartender put a glass, orange and red that  swirled together inside  it with a twist of orange peel to the side and a cube of candied ginger on the rim , a 'Blood & Spice' she had called  it . Jeri thanked her with a nod.

"He's the man who killed my parents."  he said instead of answering. "Why do you think  I’m looking for him?"

A couple of giggles left some of those listening, Jeri's smirk just widened.

“Oh, and do you think you can do it, little prince? Killing is not as easy as it sounds. "

Bruce was silent for a moment. “Well, even if it's not easy. 'Miah gave me some advice, so I know what to do. " he replied, "And even if that isn't enough… it doesn't matter, I just want…  _to have my revenge_ ." he continued. B _ecause that's what he wanted, to take revenge. If he wanted justice he would let the Captain keep looking for the_ _hitman_ _, but he didn't want to see Patrick Malone behind bars, he wanted to see him dead._

"We'll see, Bruce." Jeri said. “You can find Matches in that  big building on Grand Street between 9th and 10th. His apartment is 9B. "

Bruce nodded and thanked the woman, pretending not to hear the ' _Matches will be happy to see you, Bruce_ ' she said before he left Celestial Garden.

* * *

Bruce wasn't sure what to expect when he went there, he had no idea. In his mind only the thought, ' _It's him. The man who killed my parents_ ' repeating  itself like a broken record  drowning out everything else, until Bruce couldn’t feel a thing that wasn’t a burning need for vengeance. Bruce wondered for a moment if Jeremiah and Jerome felt the way he felt now, when they decided to take their revenge.

But whatever  he had, and hadn't expected, was not this.

He hadn't expected the man who killed his parents to be so… _empty and miserable_ . That he didn't remember the murder that marked Bruce's life, ' _I was very busy that year_ ' he said, and  continued to remember  it  until Bruce said what had happened.

And then that man, that killer, the bastard who had taken his parents away from him, had had the audacity to call him ' _son_ ', to say that  _in a certain sense he had created what Bruce was now_ .

Bruce had pulled out his  gun, seeing red,  and pointed it at him. ' _ Shoot him between the eyes if you wan _ _ t to be merciful _ _ , shoot him in the heart if you want him to suffer  _ _ for what he did to you _ ' Jeremiah's voice,  darkly cheerful that rang in his ears, while Malone corrected his posture, as if he wanted Bruce to shoot him.

"You… you want me to kill you." Bruce said, just lowering the weapon,  just slightly . "Why?"

A dry laugh left the man's lips,  as he put on the table his glass . "You wouldn't understand, son."

Bruce held back a ' _stop calling me that_ ', saying instead: "Try  me. "

“In the end you get tired, you know kid? When you commit all these crimes and you don't get punished. Free, without any consequences. You begin to wonder if God even exists… "he said, his gaze then fell back on Bruce, the misery hidden behind a veil of cold apathy." But you're not here to really hear my reasons, not really. Am I right, son? You're here for your revenge, so take it. _Shoot_."

Bruce placed his forefinger on the trigger, Jeremiah's voice in his mind mingling with Malone's telling him to shoot him. An indistinct cacophony of voices, and Bruce wanted to shoot.  _He wanted his revenge, he wanted to see that dead man, now… But…_

"No." he said, lowering the gun.  _Shooting_ _him now, while that bastard wanted to die, no, it wasn't fair._ _Or well, more than it not being fair, he didn’t want to help the bastard leave this life, if he wanted to forfeit it, well..._ "I  wont  do that. If you want to die, _do it_ _yourself_ _._ " he added, leaving the gun,  still cocked and ready to shoot, on the table,  near the glass the man had left , before leaving the apartment.

A shot echoed down the hall shortly after. 

' _I killed you without even getting my hands dirty, proud, Malone?_ ' Was the thought that suddenly occurred in his mind. The horror of what he had done, voluntarily leaving the weapon there, for the bastard to take his own life, which still  didn’t  seem to reach him.

Instead, as he left the apartment, Jeremiah's token still around his neck,

_ Bruce smiled.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Blood & Spice is a cocktail I made, inspired by Jerome Valeska.  
> Here is the recipe for anyone interested: 
> 
> Ingredients:  
> 2/4 ounce ginger syrup  
> 3/4 ounce scotch  
> 3/4 ounce sweet vermouth  
> 3/4 ounce cherry liqueur  
> 3/4 ounce orange juice, freshly squeezed  
> Garnish: orange peel and a cube of candied ginger on the rim
> 
> Steps:  
> 1\. Add the ginger syrup, scotch, sweet vermouth, cherry liqueur and orange juice into a shaker with ice(one cube intact and one cracked[it chills cocktails quicker and better like this]) and shake until well-chilled.
> 
> 2.Strain into a chilled coupe or cocktail glass.
> 
> 3\. Garnish with an orange peel and a cube of candied ginger. 
> 
> And voilà, you made yourself a Blood&Spice.


	30. Chapter XXIV: A New Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald Cobblepot knew when a battle was lost, and with the whole GCPD wanting to see him in Blackgate behind bars, he does the only thing possible to get a leniency in his sentence… he pleads insanity.
> 
> And so a new face arrives at Arkham.

Only a few days had passed since Bruce's last visit, Jeremiah wasn't exactly sure how many, the days in Arkham were so identical that without the visits with his psychiatrist, not that he missed them… in fact he was perfectly happy to never see Strange again, and no longer having Theo's torture as a way to pass time, it felt like it was always the same day.

As he had often done these days, to keep himself anchored to the identity he believed was his, Jeremiah thought back to what he had done to the bastard, a satisfied and dark smile that folded his lips, broad and a thousand times more real than any other smile would sometimes appear on his face, with that smile on his lips none of the other patients tried to approach him.

Nobody except…  _Jonathan_ . Jonathan who in the last few days had begun to stop being afraid of the shadows in the corner of his vision, but had begun more and more often to mutter under his breath  of  chemicals and doses and effects of terror on a person as if he were reading a diary that was only in his mind.  _And Jeremiah wasn't sure it was an improvement._

Well at least, now, Jonathan was no longer afraid of his own shadow, but his eyes were more haunted than before, as if the _Scarecrow_ had stopped 'hiding' in hallucinations and had decided to live only in his mind, tormenting and _tormenting him_ until all the other could think of was the formula that created him.

This new, ' _improved_ ' Jonathan wasn't afraid of his terrifying smile, and certainly wasn't afraid to talk to him whenever he wanted. Jeremiah  didn’t mind, the conversations  they had, were interesting, and also a good way to spend the tedious hours when nothing happened. Aside from the occasional fights between patients, Jeremiah had only started one in the entire period since returning to the Asylum, and had been against him, the newly recaptured Aaron Helzinger. The man could be strong but Jeremiah knew how to use his  quickness to his advantage, moving with the same fluidity and violence of a snake.

_ Jeremiah hadn't ended up in solitary confinement. _

But seeing that most of the guards were members of,  his and his twin’s, Cult Jeremiah wasn't all that surprised. 

Thinking of the Cult, Jeremiah couldn't help but think of Bruce again, to be more specific of the way his blue eyes had turned dark and stormy, as he talked about how he wanted to kill the man who shot his parents. 

He hoped that Bruce had done it, killed that man,  _that he had looked into his eyes while he shot him, or maybe while he slit his throat?_

Jeremiah couldn't decide which image he liked best, whether it was Bruce with a gun in his hand looking at the man who killed his parents before shooting him, or whether it was the image of Bruce that overpowered the bastard who had ruined his life,  slit his throat, watching the life leave  the man’s eyes, blood splattered on his face and hands, lips bent in a satisfied, bloodied smile .

_ Uh, maybe it was the image of Bruce covered in blood that he liked best. Yes it was definitely that. _

_ He hoped that Bruce would tell him how it ended and that Bruce would arrive with the token still around his neck. _

A small smile spread his lips as he thought about that, about what Jongleur had told him, about what his  people had seen. Bruce in  the  Celestial Garden with the token around his neck, in plain sight, as if Bruce knew his place was with them, with Jeremiah and, if what happened at the Gala never happened, Jerome.

The smile that had curled his lips disappeared at that thought.

_ He missed his sun so, so much. Living without him was horrible, like sailing through the fog knowing there was nowhere to return. _

* * *

Jeremiah understood that his day would be different when he was brought into the examination room that morning, only instead of meeting Bruce (it was too early to hope for a visit anyway) it was Captain Gordon who came to see him.

His expression so irritated that Jeremiah had had to hold back a chuckle. Because it was so evident that the man was not happy at all that everything Jeremiah had said had turned out to be true.

But at the same time, there was something more beyond irritation, it was almost as if the Captain was…  _reassured_ ? Almost as if he was happy to know that Jeremiah wasn't just a liar.

_ Uh, maybe the Captain never really stopped seeing something good in them even after what they had done. _

Jeremiah's surprise at that thought only became more evident when Gordon passed him two items, two  diaries Jeremiah knew well.

“Make sure you keep them hidden, Valeska. What I'm doing would give me more problems than I already have if it were known."

This was what Jim said, Jeremiah just nodded and gave the man a semi-sarcastic smirk, as if he was amused to hear that he was having trouble, but  it wasn't as sharp as usual so it was clear he was happy that the Captain had given  him the diaries.

Jeremiah held Jerome's diary against his chest for the rest of the conversation with Jim and the man said nothing about the fact, in fact he even seemed almost as if he felt  _guilty_ that that diary was the only thing Jeremiah had of his twin. The person with whom he had shared all his life and whom he was now forced to do without.

Just before the visit ended the Captain informed him that Galavan had been killed, Jeremiah stifled a satisfied smile, recalling the days of torture he had inflicted on the bastard, instead pretending to be  yes, happy that the bastard was dead, but furious that he didn't could have been the one who did it. And from the expression on Gordon's face, once again, Jeremiah was able to be convincing in his pretense.

"And who was he?  _Who_ killed that bastard? " Jeremiah asked in a low growl, pressing Jerome's diary harder against his chest.

Jim was silent for a moment, as if he was thinking about the pros and cons of telling him, then he sighed and looked away to somewhere in the room. "Oswald Cobblepot," he finally said.

The name, although  it said nothing to him, sounded familiar, perhaps Galavan had mentioned it sometimes. He couldn't be sure how confused some of his memories were, for what he knew it was Strange who had mentioned this 'Oswald Cobblepot' on some of the visits Jeremiah couldn't remember…

.

.

. 

After Captain Gordon's visit, Jeremiah, the two journals with him – moderately hidden, it wasn't as if Jongleur or the other guards would take them away even if they noticed them– was carried into the mess.

There was someone new, the old dynamics and the old,  usual groups disturbed by a figure. Some of the newer patients who seemed to want to avoid it at all costs.

The figure was… _slim_ , and with their too big Arkham uniform they looked even more delicate, even more delicate than Jonathan and the boy, ironically, had the same build as the _Scarecrow_ who terrified him so much, tall, too tall and thin as a stick. Though his grip was surprisingly strong for someone who seemed to be nothing but skin and bones.

Jeremiah intrigued, instead of lining up for a meal he didn't even want, approached the newcomer, no one tried to force him to join the patients waiting for the meal, no one cared –even though the boy absently noticed that Jongleur had thrown him a  seemingly worried look –. The figure, Jeremiah noted, had raven hair and looked even slimmer, up close than he had previously thought.

But then Jeremiah was pretty sure that, aside from some of the patients who were incarcerated for violent crimes (two of whom had punched their victims  to death ), he was the person with the most muscle mass in there.

One of the few privileges of growing up in a circus, he imagined, especially since the Director seemed to adore giving him and his twin the heaviest and most degrading jobs they could find.

"I already said it. Leave me alone. " the figure said without even turning.  At least he,  for the voice was that of a man, had the confidence, the cold tone of someone who expected to be obeyed.

Jeremiah ignored him, a chuckle leaving his mouth. The figure tensed, probably recognizing the sound of his laughter.

"Valeska."

Jeremiah smiled, although the smile quickly disappeared replaced by one of his masks to hide the pain of the fact that he would never again be able to answer ' _The_ _ones_ _and the only_ ' in chorus with Jerome and that ' _the one and only_ ' sounded awful in his mind.

"Yes, and  you are ?" Jeremiah answered, taking a seat on the other side of the table to look the mysterious figure in the face.

The man glared at him for having ' _dared_ ' to sit  at ' _his_ ' table.

" You don’t know who I am?"

"Nope," Jeremiah replied, popping the 'p' in the word, in a way that reminded him of Jerome and that almost brought down the mask he was showing to the other, but he managed to regain control of his emotions before it was too late. " Should I ?"

"I'm the  King of Gotham's underworld"

Jeremiah barked a laugh at the title, it only accentuated the frown on the other's face, who seemed to be irritating very, very quickly in his presence, Jeremiah found it  _funny_ .

The boy stood up and made a half bow, a clear mockery. The man squeezed the spoon in his hands so hard that it broke, some jumped, Jeremiah laughed. “I'm sorry I  disrespected you, Your Highness. But still, I have no idea who you are. " he said, his voice filling with false reverence.

_He wanted to see how far_ _he_ _could push the newcomer, to know what_ _made_ _him_ _tick_ _. So far it seemed like everything Jeremiah did_ _got under his skin_ _._

"Oswald Cobblepot," the man finally said.

Jeremiah nearly opened his eyes. So this was the man his Cult had framed.

"Oh, you're the one who killed Galavan." Jeremiah said,  the other mask of open mockery he had put on dropped as it would have if this had been real , his voice dropping to a snarl, as  it really would if Oswald had been the one who had stolen his chance for revenge. The other  didn’t even move under his gaze or his tone. 

_Well, so far_ _he_ _had been interesting, Jeremiah would have been disappointed if the other had pulled back for a simple_ _snarl_ _._

" _I. Did. Not._ _Kill_ _. Galavan._ " the man said in response, seeming particularly annoyed that someone had had the audacity to frame him who was, apparently, the King of Gotham's underworld. And also at the fact that he had to say this times and times again without being believed.

Jeremiah smiled. " Oh, really, now?” he asked sarcastic, as he would have done in hearing that kind of answer if he really believed that Oswald had been the one to kill Galavan. “ And if you didn't kill him who did it?"

“I have no idea, ginger. But as soon as I find the idiot who not only stole my kill but also framed me…. I'll make them regret being born. "

Jeremiah chuckled, not particularly intimidated. "I like your style,  _Ozzie_ ."

"I'm not here to entertain you,  re -" Oswald stopped "What did you call me?"

" _Ozzie_ ?" Jeremiah repeated confused, because Oswald didn't seem confused, at most shocked as if Jeremiah had done something unexpected. "What, you don't like the nickname? Well, I'm sorry you'll have to get used to it I don't call anyone by their full name… unless  I hate them and that's never a good thing…  _for them._ " continued the red.

"You! You worked for  Galavan . " Oswald exclaimed suddenly, almost  lunging across the table to grab his neck, in what seemed like a rather sudden fit of anger.

Jeremiah's gaze darkened,  his half-smile turning into an angered scowl . “ _I didn't work for_ _Galavan_ . The  _bastard_ used  _me_ ,  _us_ ,  he used me and  _Jerome_ …"

"Was it you who brought her to him?!"

For a moment Jeremiah had no idea who, Oswald was talking then suddenly everything seemed to click in the right place in his confused mind.

"Are you the son of  _Gertrud Kapelput_ ?" Jeremiah asked, not even worried by the sudden anger of the other, at most attentive to his every move so that he  wouldn’t be caught off guard if Oswald ever  tried something.

The anger in Oswald's gaze became denser, more violent, Jeremiah just avoided the other's attempt to grab him by the uniform.

"Hey, hey, Ozzie,  _calm down_ !" Jeremiah exclaimed "Neither I nor Jerome brought her to  Galavan . My twin and I just talked to her, that's all." he continued him. One part of his sentence  was a truth, the other a lie. He and Jerome had never met Theo's prisoner, in fact, apart from the occasional comment by Tabitha or Galavan himself, the two didn't even care about her existence.

"Have you talked to my mother, Valeska?" the man asked, his anger still present, but lessened. Jeremiah made a hidden gesture for the guards to stay in their posts, before nodding to the Cobblepot.

The man began to ask him question after question, Jeremiah replied, half-truths and absolute lies based on what he had heard from the two Galavans.

“Oh, then, Galavan did the same thing to you that he did to me. He took the person you loved most in your life from you. "

Oswald said nothing, but Jeremiah was sure the answer was  _yes_ . He almost regretted having deprived Oswald of the chance for revenge, but only almost.

"I just hope whoever killed that bastard made him suffer before  they ended his pitiful existence ." Oswald murmured, his anger having subsided after seeing that Jeremiah really had nothing to do with his mother's abduction, and that the boy seemed to be so utterly sincere, that he seemed almost stupidly innocent for a mass murderer as he was, as he told him that he and his twin had been comforted by his mother's presence.

Oswald was jealous that those two strangers had spent more time with his mother in the days before her last than he had the possibility to, that they had got the possibility to: talk to her, be comforted by her kindness. But at the same time, he now knew that she hadn't just been in the company of her two torturers, and that made the vice in his heart just a little bit less terrible to bear.

" You and me both, _Ozzie_. " the boy said, a thoughtful expression on his face.

Despite what he had thought of the Valeska from what he had seen in  the various recordings and on the news , Oswald found himself thinking that perhaps he and Jeremiah Valeska were more alike than he had ever imagined. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the reaction Ozzie will have in the future when he discovers that the relationship between the twins is more than just that of siblings. And when he remembers that Jeremiah thought that he and his mother had the same relationship... 
> 
> Oh, his reaction will be... _priceless_


	31. Chapter XXX: I Killed a Man and I liked it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce is starting to feel conflicted on what he did, but he doesn’t think he can talk with Alfred, or even Selina, about it. He doesn’t want them to know that even if indirectly his hands are now tainted with blood. So he goes to talk with the only person he thinks he can talk to about this.
> 
> Or Bruce feels conflicted for having let Malone kill himself, and doesn’t want to tell that to the people that he sees as close family, instead he goes to ask advice to the murderous, insane redhead that handed him to his equally crazy, late twin to have him killed. Like that is the _sane_ thing to do.

It had taken a few days before the realization of what he had done reached him, the sick satisfaction that made him feel happy, happier than he had felt since  _that day_ as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, that turned into something sticky and  creeping, like poison ivy on a building , something Bruce didn't want to  feel .

_Yet he could not chase away that satisfaction, that happy certainty that the killer of_ _his_ _parents had paid with his life for what he had done._

_It_ _was wrong,_ _it_ _was wrong and_ Bruce  _knew_ it _, but he couldn't stop feeling that way._

_And yes, he hadn't personally shot Malone, but he knew the man wanted to._ _He_ _had voluntarily left the gun, loaded, ready_ _because of that_ _._

A dark and violent part of Bruce that forced him to suppress a smile at the thought. The fact that he had killed a man without even getting his hands dirty, without even having to pull the trigger.

That dark part of him that seemed to have 'woken up' the moment his parents' killer called him 'son',  that part of him that just wanted to grin and smile like Jeremiah, _or maybe Jerome?_ , would do while basking in the satisfaction that the bastard was dead.

_ But he couldn't, he couldn't let that part be in control. No, he couldn't. _

_ What he had done was wrong. _

_ It was. _

No matter how much his own mind told him that  it wasn't.  _How much his mind told him: 'You did it, you avenged them'_ . Bruce knew he shouldn't have done that, that he should have let Captain Gordon find and arrest Malone…

_ Why had he acted while he was so blinded by his emotions? _

Involuntarily, Bruce wrapped a hand around the token he still had around his neck, usually he kept it hidden under his  turtleneck , but at the moment since he was alone,  he didn’t hide it . The warm metal against the palm, the incision pressed against the skin.

Bruce knew he couldn't talk about his doubts with  _anyone_ .

Selina, as arrogant and strong as she was, had never killed anyone, she would judge him, she would think she was changing as her friend had changed, that Bridgit Pike that she couldn't stop to talk to him.

Alfred would not have understood, he would have thought that his action, his decision had been the result of Jeremiah's influence. Alfred would be  _disappointed_ and Bruce didn't want to disappoint him,  _even if it meant hiding the truth from him._

And Captain Gordon… well, it was obvious why she couldn't talk to him about it. And Bruce didn't want to end up in Arkham, or Blackgate. Even though he knew he had to pay for what he had done.

Bruce squeezed the token tighter.

_No, it wasn't true that he didn't have anyone to talk to._ _Jeremiah_ would understand, _Jeremiah_ would listen to him, he would not judge him.

Bruce hid the token and chain again under his  turtleneck . It was fortunate that his doubts had decided to assault him only now, as it was time for his weekly visit with Jeremiah.

* * *

His request that the  visiting room cameras be turned off, and that no one listen to his conversation with the patient, had led some of the staff to give him a strange look, not Agent Palmer, he had simply smiled in that imperceptible yet  familiar way to  Jeremiah’s which Bruce could now recognize.

The money he had promised to pay to make sure that was the case had canceled any refusal that might arise.

Bruce almost felt guilty about that, but he really had to talk to Jeremiah about what had happened and he didn't want anyone to hear their conversation.

.

. 

Bruce was happy to note that, compared to the last time he saw him, Jeremiah's paleness was less pronounced, less  like the paleness of a corpse and more  like the paleness caused by prolonged lack of sunlight.

"Hey, Brucie." Jeremiah greeted him, as he did every time, the same smile and the same soft tone even though there seemed to be something in his gaze as if he was waiting  almost too eagerly  for something.

"Jeremiah." he answered the greeting, as he always did. Letting the normality of their well-established routine make him feel less…  _uncertain_ , less  _unstable_ .

Closer to the Bruce that he had always been than the confused, undecided one he was now. Though deep down, Bruce knew he would never be who he was before, he had killed someone after all.

The Bruce he once was would never have done so even blinded by revenge as he was... or maybe  he would have, maybe they weren’t all that different as he thought .

"I did it." he said in a whisper; a slow, wide smile appeared on the older boy's face, his emerald eyes sparkling with interest.

As Bruce thought, Jeremiah would never judge him, at most he seemed…  _proud_ of him.

_ But why? There was nothing to be proud of in what he had done, he had let a man take his own life, he had left him the weapon with which to do it. _

Jeremiah's smile dissolved into a confused frown. "You don't look happy."

Bruce looked away, aiming at the window next to them for a moment. “I am, happy I mean,  glad even . But I shouldn't, it's wrong,'Miah. I… It's  _wrong…_ "he said, slowly moving his gaze to meet the other's again.

Jeremiah looked at him with a sweetness that Bruce did not expect from the other, which seemed almost impossible for Valeska even if Bruce knew it was not true, Jeremiah always had that look when he thought of Jerome but Bruce was not Jerome, he… could not be so important to Jeremiah,  _right_ ?

" _Wrong_ ? " repeated the older boy. "And why? Outside of the laws and all that matters to society, why is this wrong, Bruce? Your parents didn't deserve what that man did to them, right? "

Jeremiah watched him, intent and Bruce could only nod, because  what Jeremiah had just said was true, his parents didn't deserve to be killed in an alley, for no reason other than some mysterious bastard wanting them dead.

A small smile curled Jeremiah's lips. "As I see it, what you did was simply execute a verdict that had been  long ovedue ." he said, "That man had gotten away with it for too long, you just gave him his sentence."

“But… I, _I shouldn't have_. A court should have decided not… _me_."

"And why? His actions impacted you, didn't they, Brucie? That man took your parents away from you, that man is the reason why you will never see them again. "

Jeremiah's words sounded almost cruel  with the total calm and carelessness with which he was saying them. The cold, objective way  he was talking about the moment  that changed Bruce's life  was almost worse than any form of conscious cruelty .

"I know. I know he's the reason, but- " 

"So,  what’s the problem?" Jeremiah interrupted him, his voice was not as cold as it had been before and his gaze was not at all cruel, he  just seemed interested in his answer. "Don't think about the laws, don't think about the morality of action based on what others would think. Just think of you, just…  _for you_ , Bruce. And answer me, what's wrong with what you did? "

Bruce was silent for a long, long moment. All he yelled at him was that he didn't have to listen to Jeremiah's words, that he needed to think about what was right in the eyes of the law, of society, in the eyes of the people he cared about. And at the same time he just wanted to get back to that state of contentedness that he had felt until that morning.

_After all… in a way Jeremiah was right, wasn't he?_ Bruce hadn't really done anything wrong, he hadn't even pulled the trigger, in fact.  _It had been Malone himself._

It was the guilt of that hitman that killed him, not Bruce. If Bruce hadn't been there now, Malone would have found another way.

A small part of Bruce's mind, the same one that always told him he trusted Jeremiah too much, whispered to him that even if it were true, Bruce's presence had been what had pushed Malone over the edge. Bruce ignored that voice.

" Nothing ." he whispered in response to Jeremiah's question.

Jeremiah's small smile widened and widened, to the point of  being almost unnatural , too wide and sharp and yet indisputably real.

"Do you see Bruce? Apart from all those stupid conceptions that you think you have to respect, what you did is right. You took your revenge, exact justice for your parents. " Jeremiah said, his tone hiding something so joyful it almost seemed  manic . And for a moment Bruce wondered if he was wrong to think Jeremiah was the right person to talk to about this and,  yet,  at the same time, he couldn't help but think he was. " _The bastard is dead, long live you._ " the other then said solemnly, but with a smile on his face. His gaze,  for a moment appearing far, away from him, as if he were remembering something.

_ Perhaps related to the words he had just said. _

And Bruce didn't know why, or maybe he did. After all, how Jeremiah had said what he had done was not wrong. Bruce hadn't even pulled the trigger.

_ Everything was fine. _

_ He had avenged his parents. _

_ He had done the _ right thing _. _

" _ The bastard is dead, long live me. _ " he whispered, repeating Jeremiah's words, once, twice. Until that sense of sick satisfaction filled his chest again.

Jeremiah smiled at him and Bruce, finding no reason not to, _smiled back_ .

* * *

"I swear. I'm not lying. I can bring him back to life. "

Jeri looked at the newcomer, a man who claimed to work in a secret laboratory connected with Arkham Asylum.

“Uh, it'll be better for you. Once the news gets to Jeremiah, you'll have to give him what you promise. "

The man nodded, almost frantic, almost too much. There was something feverish in his eyes, a blind admiration.

It took her a few moments to recognize  it for  what it was.

_Veneration_ .  _Worship_ , like the twins were his gods and he their humble servant.

“And I will. I'll bring him back to us, I'll bring him back. "

"I'll notify Jongleur then." she said, a smile curled the lips of the other, almost too wide, a clear imitation of something that was not  his .

Not everyone managed to imitate the Valeska smile well, many of them didn't even try, preferring their own version.

Jongleur was the only one who perfected that imitation, but  with the time he spent with Jeremiah wasn't all that surprising. There was a reason why he was the one giving the orders, because everyone listened to him.

As far as the rest of the Cult was concerned,  _Jongleur was the extension of Jeremiah._

"What did you say  your name was, again ?" she then asked, so that she could give Jongleur the name of their hypothetical miracle worker.

Jeri really hoped the man wasn't lying, she was really curious to meet both twins, to see them both act as she had only seen in the  footage . All of them were curious to see the twins at their best.

And well, if this  guy had lied…  _ well, it was his head that would have been  _ _ put on a spike _ _ certainly not Jeri's. _

The man smiled, again in that way that was clearly an  imperfect imitation.

"I'm Dwight,  _Dwight Pollard._ " 


	32. Chapter XXXI: Death may be fickle, but I'm worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah receives the news about Dwight’s supposed knowledge on how to raise the dead. He is hopeful and yet… doesn’t want to believe to much into it to avoid breaking his fragile psyche once and for all. 
> 
> Meanwhile Oswald has started acting… strange, more calm and subdued. And the redhead thinks to know why.

_Hope._

  
  
That was something Jeremiah had forgotten for years, he didn't know how to  _hope_ that was something  only  his twin knew how to.  
  
Jerome was, among them, the one who could still hope, could still believe that the future held something  great for them, not Jeremiah,  Jeremiah had lost any capacity of hope as he grew up in that circus, that ripped away from him everything: his future, his innocence, his sanity. Jerome had been the one who hoped for both of them .  
And after... after the  Gala, Jeremiah had had no reason to hope for the future,  _after all what future there could be for him without his dear Jeromeby his side?_ His only plan to get revenge on Galavan and nothing more.  
Being free didn't interest him, not without his brother by his side,  _after all what was the point without his other half?_   
  
But now for the first time in...  _ years_, Jeremiah felt  _something_ , a streak of faint, faint hope ignite in his chest when Jongleur had told him of the impossible idea that Jerome could be brought back to life.  
That someone, a new arrival in the Cult, claimed to have the knowledge to bring him back to him.  
  
Just the thought of being able to talk again  with, of being able to hold Jerome in his arms, of being able to feel their hearts beating in unison again, in a perfect symphony. Complete where  it now was  unfinished, forever  unfinished ...but maybe  it didn't have to be.  
  
Maybe there was a tiny hope that this person, this Dwight, wasn't having a  delusion, that it wasn’t just the hallucination of a madman , but that they was sincere,  that they really could deliver on their promise .  
  
And, well, if they didn't give him back his twin. Jeremiah already knew he would make them pay for it, make them suffer even more than he had made Galavan suffer. If that Dwight was  _lying_... _Jeremiah would make their life hell_.  Because, because as impossible as  it was, as much as Jeremiah knew that bringing the dead back to life was something  of  science fiction, supernatural, he couldn't help but  _hope_ .  
  
_He missed Jerome so, so much._

  
Jeremiah would have done anything to get his twin back. To no longer feel so alone, so terribly, terribly lonely, to no longer feel that chill, that confusion, that sense of loss so total that it made him feel as if someone had ripped his heart out of his chest and replaced it with a piece of ice that never melted, instead freezing him from the inside out.  
  
Of course the feeling wasn't as strong anymore, though it remained ever present, than it had been in the beginning, if only because Jeremiah had found ways to distract himself.  
Talking to Jonathan; his plan to slowly corrupt Bruce; even Oswald Cobblepot had become a good distraction from the terrible loneliness he felt.  
Though in these last few days the Penguin was... _changing_ , he had become calmer, quieter. But also paler, his eyes empty and tired.  
  
It appeared like Strange had found someone else to do his little experiments on, and for the most part he was leaving him and Jonathan alone, not that Jeremiah would remember if he had a visit with the psychiatrist. After all with how confusing and vague the little he could remember was, Jeremiah had decided to stop trying to force himself to remember more.  
  
Focusing instead on stifling the _snakes_ , the almost perpetual hiss that filled his thoughts. Jeremiah had always liked snakes, even if they had never liked him, Jerome was far better at dealing with them than he was, but even with that Jeremiah would really rather have gone back to the empty abyss that haunted his nights before than the den of convulsing vipers that plagued him now.  
  
"Jon, Ozzie!" he said by way of greeting as he sat down at what had now become their table, Jonathan replied with a '' _’Miah_ '', Jeremiah sent him an almost withering gaze, but the other boy simply replied with one of his disturbing smiles. Since Strange had left him alone, Jonathan was getting better, less fearful.  
  
Yes, the _Scarecrow_ still terrified him, but he had become quite adept at ignoring it until the hallucination got too close to him. And Jeremiah despite himself had found himself enjoying Jonathan's company more than he had imagined.  
  
Oswald responded to his greeting with a flat tone, still annoyed by the nickname Jeremiah had bestowed upon him but not prone to argue as usual.  
  
If anything, Oswald looked even worse off than he had the day before, it would have been worrying if it weren't for the fact that both he and Jonathan found it pathetic how quickly the 'Penguin' was collapsing under Doctor Strange's 'care'.  
It had taken months to bring Jeremiah to such a point and nearly a year to make Jonathan what he had been the first time he and Jeremiah had spoken, so the two had expected more from the self-proclaimed King of Gotham's Underworld.  
  
But maybe that simply showed that Arkham wasn't made for people like Oswald Cobblepot, the man was far too sane for a terrible place like Arkham that made the insane even crazier and the sane, insane. Or in Oswald's case slowly broke them.  
  
"Maybe you should have let them send you to Blackgate, Ozzie."  
  
The Penguin's gaze snapped to him, tired and empty but still with an ounce of the violent anger Jeremiah had seen the first time they'd spoken, flashing behind those gray-blue eyes of his.  
  
"And become easy prey for Maroni's men? No, I prefer this place to that possibility."

  
  
Jeremiah shrugged. "Well, at least you wouldn't have to deal with Strange."

  
  
Oswald paused, as if petrified at hearing the psychiatrist's name.  
  
_Oh?_ Jeremiah tilted his head to one side, and noticed out of the corner of his eye Jonathan doing the same thing, their gazes on Oswald,  _this reaction...did it mean that he remembered what Strange's 'treatment' consisted of?_   
  
"Tell me, Ozzie, do you happen to remember what goes on in your visits?"  
  
Oswald turned just a little paler,  which wasn’t saying much as the man was already almost paper white , since the visits had started he had lost his formidable ability to hide his weaknesses, at least when it came to hiding the reaction certain things caused him.  
  
Jeremiah smiled  slightly. "Oh? _You do_? What a surprise! You see, Os, neither Jonny nor I can remember it so...we're very curious."

  
  
“And... And…" a small pause from Oswald as he realized his voice was too low and weak, which was not a point in his favor, not when he was like a bleeding prey surrounded by sharks. "What makes you think we get the same  kind treatment, Jeremiah?"  


  
Jeremiah shrugged. "Nothing. But we're in Arkham so I doubt they really try different treatments to cure us  crazies."

  
  
"I. Am. Not. _Crazy_." Oswald hissed, the fire of anger in his eyes growing more vivid. Jeremiah's smile grew.

  
  
"Oh,  really? You  have to be to be here in Arkham, don't you?"

  
  
Oswald  glared at him , Jeremiah chuckled. "I see Strange's claws haven't gotten too deep yet. Well, I would have been disappointed if they had." he said, the smile on his lips just wider and more amused.

Then a sudden thought entered his mind.   
  
_Oh, how Jeremiah wished his twin was there with him._   
  
Jeremiah's smile faded, and the boy didn't even realize the change in expression of the other two at the table as soon as he became more serious,  the way Oswald got a bit more distant from him, and the way Jonathan’s smile grew thinner .  
  
_Jerome would have loved dealing with someone like Oswald, finding all kinds of ways to torment him for fun,_ _all the ways to get under his skin, to make him tick and snap, and act just as Jerome wanted him to without Oswald even realizing_ _._

Jerome had always been like that, an apt manipulator, though he preferred intimidation to work on the psyche of someone to get what he wanted, Jeremiah preferred the more delicate, and more insidious approach, but that didn’t mean that Jerome wasn’t good at it.

_ The opposite in fact. _

  
Dwight's name came back to replay in his mind, Dwight and their impossible promise.  
The promise to give Jeremiah back the  person that mattered most to him.  
  
_Oh, Dwight had better not fail or the consequences would be, tremendous.  
Death could be ___ fickle and unpredictable, but Jeremiah, oh, Jeremiah knew he could be a thousand times worse. Jeremiah was the Great Serpent, and he would show that Dwight a world of hurt if his hopes were dashed.   
  



	33. Chapter XXXII: What you get for your help...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Gordon didn’t expect for his life to take such a sharp turn, he didn’t expect it at all.  
> Luckily, despite the fact that he is the reason why he and his twin ended up in Arkham in the first place, Jeremiah seems to not want to see him dead.
> 
> But is this a positive thing? Or is it not?

If someone had told Jim Gordon, Captain of the GCPD, that almost three weeks after he had, coveted, brought Jeremiah Valeska the journals, his and his twin's, to Arkham.   
He would return there, not as a visitor, but as a new patient...Jim wouldn't have believed  them .  
  
He would never have thought that Ed, because Jim was sure it was him  who had actually done it – _why would he do what he did if it wasn’t for that?_ – , would frame him for the murders he had committed. He never thought that the fact that he had insisted he wasn't guilty would land him in Arkham. 

  
That his co-workers, his friends, would think he was actually capable of killing someone for no reason.  That they would think that the fact that he had never outright condemned the twins, all those months ago, and was kind of sympathetic towards them, meant that he was just as out of his mind as they were.

  
At least Harvey was on his side. ' _I'm going to find out what really happened, Jim. In the meantime be careful in that place_ ,' he had told him before they took him away, handcuffed in an armored  van . For a moment Jim couldn't help but wonder how the twins had felt when they'd been in his place, when they'd been shoved into a van very similar to the one he was in now and handcuffed to a ring in the metal floor so they couldn't move much.  
  
Once again, before he stifled it, a drop of  out of place guilt burned in his chest, burning like acid devouring relentlessly at his lungs. And with nothing to distract himself with except his thoughts, and the way he could try to help Harvey from Arkham, Jim found himself having to  stifled  that emotion more than once on the drive from GCPD to Arkham Asylum,  the emotion growing stronger and less easy to stiffle each time he had to do it .  
  


* * *

  
  
_Jeremiah was beginning to get bored with Oswald._   
  
All he'd heard of the man were stories of a proud and, far more than just, slightly violence-prone leader. Someone you didn't want to have as an enemy, someone who would secretly plan how to destroy your life if you disrespected him.  
  
What he'd been dealing with was a man who, as the days  became weeks, had become increasingly placid and calm and, annoyingly,  _helpless_ .

  
_Pathetic_ .

  
_Absolutely pathetic._   
  
Jeremiah wanted a challenge, something to keep him distracted. Distracted  from the  cold in his chest, distracted  from the insidious little drop of hope that was trying to melt the ice around his heart, the asynchronous melody in his chest that had grown sweeter, hopeful of having  its mate back once more.

  
The Valeska didn't want to hope too much. He still had his doubts that this Dwight was nothing more than a poor fool in the grip of some absurd delusion, for if the dead could be brought back to life then  _why hadn't it been done before?_   
  
_If the dead could be brought back to life then why hadn't Bruce brought his_ precious parents _back to himself?_ Into the world of the living once more.

  
Bruce spoke of his parents often, too often for Jeremiah's taste,  as for him the figure of 'parent' was something purely negative, something that brought to mind: the smell of alchool and a drawling voice,  of anger and violence and  _hatred_ ; a blind old man telling them that the world didn't care about them. 

  
When Bruce talked about his memories, which, despite himself, were already starting to get fuzzy in places, Bruce was talking about people who would move the world themselves for him.

  
Jeremiah was equal parts jealous and happy that Brucie had had a childhood, however interrupted by a bastard in an alley who had killed his parents before his eyes.  
  
A bastard who, a smile bent Jeremiah's lips,  _Bruce had killed with his own hands._   
Bruce had not yet told him in detail what he had done, so Jeremiah only had an image created by his imagination.  
  
Of Bruce, in an unspecified apartment, with  _their_ Cult token around his neck and a gun in his hand pointing at the bastard. Fury in his eyes.  
Jeremiah wondered if Bruce had smiled as he pulled the trigger, or if his expression had been one of pure fury.  
  
The redhead liked to imagine a Bruce smiling cruelly, with a storm in his eyes.  
  
"'Miah."  
  
"Jonny how many times have I told you not to call me-"Jeremiah began, returning to the 'eternal' present of Arkham, but Jonathan interrupted him, something the boy didn't do often.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I  shouldn’t call you that," Jonathan said, repeating what he'd told him the last time he'd called him by that nickname. (Only two people were allowed to call him ‘' _Miah_ ’ and Jonathan was not one of them). "There's a new guy, look  _who_ it is!" the other continued, his gaze focused on the newly arrived patient, one of his disturbing smiles bending his lips.  
  
Immediately Jeremiah was intrigued. Jonathan wasn't the kind of person to take an easy interest in anything, in fact the only thing he seemed to really care about was how to get past the  _Scarecrow_ , and, as of late, how to try to manipulate that terror in his favor.  
His favorite target these last few days for this new interest of his had been Oswald himself, for Jonathan was curious to see if by terror he would be able to jolt the other out of that state of pathetic placid calm in which he had fallen.  
  
_So far, every attempt Jonathan had made had failed._   
  
Jeremiah shifted his gaze to the newcomer, and a laugh, high and surprised, left his mouth as soon as he recognized him.  
  
James 'Jim' Gordon, the Detective who had arrested them, the Captain who had brought back their journals -something Jeremiah was grateful for, though he would never admit it-, had just walked in, an Arkham uniform on instead of his police uniform. His expression was a mixture of incredulous and annoyed as he tried to go as unnoticed as possible.   
Which was impossible since all the patients, or rather those lucid enough to understand what was going on, were looking at him, some with enough anger in their eyes that Jeremiah was curious as to what the Captain had done to them.

Jim was probably the reason why they ended up in Arkham in the first place.   
  
"Jimbo!" Jeremiah exclaimed, breaking the, relative, silence that had fallen in the room, his voice high and cheerful, without even a hint of threat. Jim  flinched as if he heard a gunshot, before his gaze snapped to him.  
  
_Blue on Green._   
  
Jeremiah's smile grew as he motioned for the ex-cop to come to their table. With a certain, obvious, reticence Jim did so.   
The ex-cop probably understood that it was best to do so, to follow what he said.  
Jeremiah hoped Jim would be  observant enough to realize that the entire asylum, except for the psychiatrists(not counting Harley), was under his control.  
  
"Valeska." the man said, his voice low and controlled. His pronunciation always  a little bit off enough  to leave Jeremiah confused and a little irritated,  _it wasn't that hard to pronounce 'Valeska' was it? Why did Jim always have to call him Velaska?_   
  
Jeremiah nodded, wide friendly smile still on his face, too friendly to the point of being more than a little  unsettling , disturbing to the point of causing chills. "Why don't you join our table, Jim?" the boy asked. "After all, you should know us all, shouldn't you?"  
  
Jim nodded, slowly. His gaze shifting from Jeremiah to Jonathan, who immediately gave him one of his disturbing smiles-eyes as cold as ice and the smile of a nightmare that haunts your nights- forcing the ex-cop to immediately shift his gaze to Oswald. Slight confusion appeared on Jim's face upon seeing Oswald's calm placidity.  
  
"Eh, Strange has taken a lot of interest in Os." said Jeremiah almost by way of an answer to the question so clear on the other man's face, as Oswald nodded, Jim shifted his gaze back to him.  
The redhead motioned for him to take a seat next to Jonathan, hesitantly, but clearly preferring Jeremiah's, presently, unthreatening attention, Jim did so.  
  
Silence fell between them as Jeremiah watched the ex-Captain, who in turn watched him. The Arkham uniform they'd given him wasn't exactly his size but similar enough that it didn't make him look as thin and dainty as Oswald's did to him, and then Jeremiah noticed it...the red line under the number sewn on his uniform.  
  
"One of the Reds, Jimbo? Wow." he said, a good dose of sarcasm tinging his voice. "What did you ever do to earn that?"  
  
Irritation returned to the cop's expression. "Nothing." he said in response, cold gaze and a slight growl in his voice.  
Jim looked almost threatening with that expression and tone. But only almost, Jeremiah had seen worse in his life at the circus and now as one of Gotham's worst criminals.  
  
"Really? What did they set you up too?" asked Jeremiah, the tone light, but the curiosity real. "Os says they set him up so...is it the same for you?"  
  
"No." replied the cop, Jeremiah raised an eyebrow in confusion, Jonathan stared curiously, clearly interested in the conversation. "I'm actually innocent."  
  
"Oh? And how can you be sure of that, Jimbo?"  
  
"I would remember killing two people and hiding their bodies, wouldn't I _Valeska_?"  
  
Jeremiah chuckled, Jonathan smiled.  
  
"Oh, I wouldn't know Jim. See that guy there?" Jeremiah said, pointing, not bothering to be too subtle at one of the patients,  a big man towering over the others in his table like a mountain over hills, but with the most docile expression of the lot. The man immediately shied away in seeing himself under Jeremiah’s gaze . "That's Ralph, he killed five people and doesn't remember doing it..."  
  
Jim gave him an almost  whithering look, at the insinuation Jeremiah had just made. That Jim was indeed guilty, but that he didn't remember doing the murders or hiding the bodies.  
  
Jeremiah laughed again, his laughter only getting louder as he noticed Jim stiffen at the sound,  like a prey under the wolf’s eyes .   
_  
Oh, things were about to get interesting again._   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another one of my timeline divergences, as when in canon Jim end's up in Blackgate, Oswald is already been released from Arkham. But, since, my Gordon ended up in Arkham, I thought it would be more interesting if they had the possibility to interact... but with Jim being the more aggressive and Os the calm one...


	34. Chapter XXXIII: I love being the bearer of bad news

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly, or maybe not so surprisingly, Bruce didn’t know that Jim Gordon had ended up in Arkham.
> 
> And not so surprisingly, Jim Gordon doesn't know that Bruce weekly visites Jeremiah since the promise in the interrogation room.

As Jeremiah soon discovered it was even more entertaining that he had expected to get under Jim Gordon’s skin. The ex-captain had the most interesting reactions that he had seen in a while, whether it was snapping at him, voice raising and getting almost sharp, or just get up and walk away, till he had cooled down.

Yet the ex-captain joined them back to the table every time, no matter how much Jeremiah pushed. It was fun in a way to see the proud man, bow down his head and get back to ‘Jeremiah’s’ table. Just because he knew that if it wasn’t for Jeremiah’s protection, if it wasn’t for Jeremiah that had chosen the ex-cop to be his little new plaything to pass the time, the man would have probably been in much more serious problems than some comments and an almost constant teasing from the redhead.

On the other hand, Jeremiah had completely lost interest in Oswald, as the once proud King of the Underworld was now a meek, little thing, way too calm, incapable of protecting himself, either from physical threats or simple verbal attacks.

_It was pathetic_ , if Jeremiah was being honest with himself. He hadn’t crumbled that much and that far under Strange’s ‘care’. But the once arrogant Cobblepot had, falling on himself like a castle of cards after Strange had started chipping away at his psyche.

  
Gordon, instead, got more and more observant, worried for the other man as Oswald Cobblepot grew weaker and meeker in front of their eyes.

“That’s why I told you to attract Strange’s attention.” Jeremiah once said to the ex-cop, Jim had demanded answers, explanations, Jeremiah just gave him a smirk and said nothing.

And it was because of his disinterest in Oswald that Jeremiah didn’t even react when Aaron, the fucking coward, arrived falling in the rouse created by Strange. Beating the proud Penguin up for a stupid cup of ice cream, that Jeremiah snitched  away the cup of ice cream in the midst of the ruckus, no need to waste some perfectly good food after all.

Watching the beat up, as if it was some kind of show, while happily eating the plain vanilla ice cream.

Gordon was stopped from intervening by two of the stronger patients present, and all the while yelled at Jeremiah for stopping him.

As his eyes darkened with the knowledge that Jeremiah had the complete control over the facility, a Mad King of an insane castle.

The knowledge that Jeremiah may have been just an eighteen years old, bordering on nineteen, but if he wanted he could have left the insane asylum simply walking out of it and had gained an almost fanatic respect from the other inmates.

J eremiah had smiled at the man, wide and mocking. Soon after the beat up, as Penguin was being brought to the Infirmary, by some guards –all with tokens on their wrists–, Jongleur arrived.

“Hm?” 

“You have a visit, Valeska.” the guard said, a hint of a smirk hiding on his face, as he side-watched the reaction of the ex-cop to the words he said to Jeremiah.

A confused frown appeared on Gordon’s face. “A visit? Who would even visit you?” 

Jeremiah stood up, exchanging a half-smile to Jonathan, that meant ‘keep our dear ex-cop under control’ and then smirked at the ex-Captain.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Jimbo.” he said before following Jongleur. 

The satisfied smirk didn’t leave his face till he arrived in the visiting room, then it softened.

On the other side of the door there was… Bruce. The kid way less anxious and agitated than he had been last time they had saw each other. In fact Bruce seemed completely tranquil, a little smile on his lips and…  _their_ Cult’s token around his neck, the metal disk glinting under the rays of light coming from the window.

“Ehy, Brucie” Jeremiah said as his customary hello, Bruce answered soon after.

The two talked and talked of all and nothing at the same time, and Jeremiah was glad to see Brucie so full of life, looking even better than usual.

So different from the conflicted person that visited him a week  ago . Some people were destroyed when the took a life, Jeremiah thought, others like Bruce, like he and his twin, got just  _livelier_ .   


A little smile bent his lips.

It was near the end of the visit that Jeremiah realized, from what they had been talking about that Bruce didn’t know. That it wasn’t that Bruce didn’t care about Jim Gordon’s fate in Arkham, but that he didn’t know. 

And so, in honor of the fact that he promised he’d never really lie to the kid, he considered his first friend. The thought hurt a bit, knowing that this was one of the first _firsts_ that he couldn’t share with his twin, and at the same time, it made the thought of what that Dwight guy had promised get a forefront seat in his mind once again.

If the guy wasn’t lying, nor was an insane son of a bitch, soon, very soon Jeremiah would get to hug Jerome again. 

To see him  _smile_ , and hear him  _laugh_ .   
  
To feel the warmth of his body against his, the beat of their heart synchronizing once more as it should have never stopped to be.

_ To be able to kiss him again, till he was breathless, till both of them were. _

He wanted his brother, his twin, his other half back and that Dwight had better deliver what he promised.

“Jeremiah?”

“Uh?”  
  
“Everything’s all right? You spaced out” Bruce said, worry lacing his words. His soft, delicate hands over his, warm and caring. 

Jeremiah’s eyes focused again on the token hanging from the other’s neck, the menacing smile impressed in the metal, now that he looked at it better was different than the one on the tokens of the other followers. 

It had been etched with more care, the roughness of the lines deliberate, and the enamel paint over it was of a deep, deep crimson, like fresh blood slightly shiny under the light. Instead of the duller matte shade in the other tokens that he was way more familiar with.

_ Had Jongleur had this specific token made with more care, just because of who would wear it? _

“I’m alright, Brucie. Sorry to have worried you. I was just thinking of something.”

The worry on Bruce’s face lessened not by much but that bit necessary to let him be curious instead of just concerned. 

Jeremiah still wasn’t used to have people concerned about him, hell even the ex-captain in between insults and quips, sometimes got worried for him if he didn’t eat enough during the meals. 

_ It was strange. _

Whether it was Bruce’s care or, even more absurdly, Jim’s care, Jeremiah didn’t know how to react. 

To him usually concern was an expression on a face identical to his, was a soft twin voice asking him if he needed anything, if they had to try and shoplift something better than some snacks and a little pre-cooked meal to share among themselves.

It still didn’t seem normal to him that other people worried for him, even if one of those was Brucie, whose heart was still too big and made of gold even after having killed his parents’ killer.

“Oh? Of what?” Bruce asked, voice slightly quieter than usual as it always gets when Bruce is afraid of overstepping with his questions, Jeremiah just smiled at him.

His smile soft and… normal-er than his usual, the smile he usually reserved to his twin. Bruce smiled back.

And then as Jeremiah remembered what he was thinking about the smile thinned and disappeared.

“Jimbo is here, in Arkham.” 

Bruce frowned. “Captain Gordon?” he asked, a sort of dull shock on his face “ Why?”

Jeremiah shrugged. “Apparently, if it’s to be believed he killed two people, some corrupt cop and a chick, he doesn’t remember doing it though.”

To Jeremiah’s surprise, Bruce huffed. “So? One was a corrupt cop and the other was probably just as bad if the Captain killed her… he did good and they sent him to Arkham?”

And Jeremiah had to stifle a satisfied, slightly too wide smile, at hearing those words, the way Bruce dismissed the homicides, the way he didn’t care of those lives only that Jim had apparently done the right thing.

A slow corruption his always the most satisfying one to see slowly come into fruition, like looking a flower slowly opening it’s petals, or watching a Venus’ flytrap slowly digest its prey.

Bruce seemed to have taken Jeremiah’s words at heart, probably mulling over them for the entire time if he was so unconcerned by the possibility that the Captain had killed someone, only because he seemed to have done it for a good reason.

“Apparently, yes.”

Bruce huffed once again, rolling his eyes at the apparent ‘stupidity’ of the system. Then his expression turned serious, his eyes though, they were soft and worried. “Please, Jeremiah, keep him safe.”

For a moment the tiniest drop of jealousy burned in his chest, but it burned out quickly as the older boy realized that, while Bruce cared for the Captain, he cared more about him than the man.

“What does make you think I can protect him?” Asked Jeremiah, feigning confusion. As if he really was clueless.

“Like you don’t know, ‘Miah.” said the other “I’ve seen the guards wearing _your friends_ ’ token.”

A slow, proud smile curved Jeremiah’s lips. “Fine, I’ll keep the Captain safe.” he said, admitting nothing but a little smile curved the other’s lips anyways.

“Thank you, ‘Miah.”

.

.

.

When the visit ended Jeremiah was brought to the Common Room, Jonathan and Jim were sitting in the same place as, what had quickly become, usual. 

Jonathan barely raised his eyes from his sketchbook, where he was sketching a rather bloody rendition of the Scarecrow gutting someone open with a wheat scythe, the pointy blade slathered with black carbon stains that represented blood,  it took Jeremiah a moment to realize that the Scarecrow wasn’t as tall and inhumanly thin as it usually was, it looked more…  _human-like_ . 

_ More like… Jonathan. _

Jonathan shielded the sketch with his arm as soon as he realized that Jeremiah was staring at it.

Jeremiah smiled, for the moment ignoring a seething Jim Gordon that was staring daggers at him, apparently still angry for the fact that he had blocked him from trying to defend Oswald.

“I’m not going to take you sketchbook away, Jonny. No need to hide the drawings.” Jeremiah said “I find them pretty interesting, if I may say so.”

Jonathan sent him a chilling glare, but moved away his arm nonetheless, the drawing slightly smudged by the sleeve of Jonathan’s striped uniform, the other boy scowled at the ruined sktech and then at him.

Jeremiah chuckled, the sound of his voice slightly less chilling than usual, more amused, still many stilled in hearing it. “Not my fault, Jon. You smudged it.”

“And you were the one staring at it.” Jonathan answered back, in a mutter as he turned the page to start anew.

  
Jeremiah smiled, in that way that was way too friendly to be real, and that was way too unsettling. Jonathan quickly adverted his eyes, afraid but not enough to be sent to another terror attack.

Silence fell between the three, not total silence though since the notes of the song  _‘Dominique’_ , filled the air underneath chatter and half-chocked laughs and sigh _s,_ and never stopping muttering.

Absently Jeremiah started tapping some melody against the table with his fingers, lost in thought.

Thoughts that soon, too soon, got drowned in the ever growing hope that was filling his chest. He didn’t want to hope this much, he didn’t want to bring himself to lose it all when it would all end up in nothing, but he couldn’t stop it, he couldn’t stop his fool of  a heart to wanting to hope to have back its mate, for Jeremiah to have back his beloved, his sun, his brother, his everything and all.

_ Why couldn’t he stop hoping so strongly? He had never been the dreamer, that was Jerome… _

_ Maybe without his sun, he was starting to cling to belief too, to put some kind of equilibrium in something that would have never have one.  _

“I was told to make sure that you were safe, Jimbo.” he said rather abruptly, Jonathan stopped sketching for a moment, the muffled ‘scritch-scratch’ of the crayon on rough paper stopped before resuming back.

Jim tensed. “And who told you that?”

Jeremiah smirked, looking in those cold sharp eyes. The boy hoped that Jim Gordon wouldn’t break as easily as the Penguin had. “Someone.”

Jim narrowed his eyes. “Your visitor I presume.”

Jeremiah nodded, smile growing.

“And why would your visitor care about my wellbeing?”

Jeremiah’s smile grew a tad bit more, his eyes sparkling with dark amusement, as he said, with the most innocent tone he could muster: “Why wouldn’t Brucie care?”

Jim Gordon stilled, shock clear on his features, his eyes wide then he  forced his expression to a somewhat  unaffected one. “Bruce? He…  _visited you_ ?”

Jeremiah chuckled at the man’s shock, and Jonathan joined too. 

Then without raising his ice-shard eyes from the drawing, the reflection of the slashes of black and sharp blades cutting and severing, and mauling and dismembering clear, as he scoffed: “It’s not really that much of a surprise. The kid is Jeremiah’s habitual visitor.”

And Jeremiah could only laugh at the expression of shock and horror that appeared in the ex-cop face as he realized that Bruce had been in contact with him since the interrogation, that he hadn’t visited him just in a one time thing to fulfill a promise. The way Gordon looked like Jonathan had just told him that Jeremiah had hurt his pseudo-son, or worse had tried to manipulate him.

Jeremiah laughed and laughed till his laugh sounded almost like a hiss.

_ Oh, sometimes he really loved being the bearer of bad news. _


	35. Chapter XXXIV: And then He said: “Raise and Walk again”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the beat-up by Aaron Helzinger, Oswald is deigned sane and is freed.  
> Meanwhile Jeremiah, after a confrontation with the ex-cop, receives a wonderful news.

Oswald was released from the infirmary, early in the day, after almost a week of permanence in the Infirmary.

At that same time, Jim Gordon had been taken for a visit from someone, likely either his cop friend, that Harvey Bullock(if Jeremiah remembered correctly) or Bruce, so the only people present of Jeremiah’s ‘group’ were Jeremiah himself and Jonathan, both of which were pretty uninterested of the fate of the Penguin.

Despite their disinterest though, when the man joined the others in the mess hall of the Cafeteria, both of the boys realized that whatever had been left of the actual fearsome, infamous Penguin was completely gone from the meek, weak man that walked in, escorted by one guard, who has many other by now, had the token bound around their wrist.

Jeremiah had basically the entire Asylum under his control now, excluding the doctors, and luckily for him Strange didn’t appear to care, too focused on whatever he was now working on, to concern himself with what the Valeska was planning to do.

The two boys mostly ignored the now dull-eyed man who  now was just an empty husk of his former self, broken beyond repair by Strange’s ‘ _ therapy _ ’, whatever that had been for him.  Giving him only some side glances as they talked with each other.

  
Jonathan telling him about the way his father chose his subjects, a dangerous, cold glint in his eyes as he told him how much he hated having to be the bait,  and how he once used to pity their subjects, but now… _ he couldn’t find it in himself to care _ .

And it was then that Jim Gordon returned, just a few minutes before the hour for the visits with the shrinks started, not that Jonathan and Jeremiah had to worry about that, since they both were still technically Strange’s patients and the man was busy. And Gordon’s doctor, that was a friend of Harley, and this was the only reason why Jeremiah knew about them, was still in the hospital after being attacked by one of  their patients.

Not Jim, though Jeremiah would have found it extremely funny if it had been the ex-cop, it also wouldn’t have surprised him, Jim did have some problems in keeping his anger in check, especially since he had been sent here between the nutjobs.

Speaking of which, as Jim advanced in the hall, Jeremiah realized that the man was angry, eyes stormy and darkened by rage.

“What did you say to him?” the man asked, in that position with him standing and Jeremiah sitting, Jim towered over the redhead, his voice low and with an almost growly quality to it. 

Jeremiah smirked, not intimidated in the least, gesturing at two inmates, that had got up ready to stop Gordon, to stay put. “To who?”

Jim balled his hands in fists, so tightly wound that his knuckles had become white, the man tensed as if he was trying to stop himself from striking, Jeremiah’s smirk turned into a sort of mocking smile, unconcerned with the apparent danger that was in front of him.

Jonathan watched with interest, leaning against his closed sketchbook that was on the metallic table. The man who had been Penguin cowered cowardly. 

“You know _who_ I’m talking about, Jeremiah.” Jim gritted out, growing tenser and tenser.

“Sorry, Jimbo. I’ve no idea of who you could be talking about.” Jeremiah answered back, stifling a laugh at how the anger in Jim’s eyes intensified, the man having just realized that Jeremiah was playing with him, to see what reactions he could get out of him, if he pushed all of his buttons now that he was so outwardly irate. 

“Stop playing, Jeremiah. What did you tell him?” 

Jeremiah’s smile widened, as he met Jim Gordon’s stormy eyes. “I told him just the truth” 

Jim took a step forward, stopping himself when he realized it, when he realized that he was about to throw a punch to a boy that wasn’t even trying to defend himself, all of his anger flushed away, calming himself down, as what could only be defined as guilt flashed on his face. “I didn’t kill those two, I was framed.”

Jeremiah nodded. “And I told that to Brucie, too. But he believes that even if you did do it, there is no reason for you to be here. Unless he told you something else?” Jeremiah asked curious.

Though he couldn’t see Bruce attacking, even if just verbally a man that he almost saw as a pseudo-father figure.

“No, he… he is by my side. Even if I was the culprit he would be.”  


“Then what’s the matter, Jimbo? I thought you’d be happy to have Brucie in your corner.”   
  
Jim looked at him, no outward anger in his eyes, but the Valeska could see it still boiling under the surface. His eyes almost glinting with set determination, the same determination thanks of which he found out who the real culprits were in the Valeskas’ mother’s murder.

“What did you do to him? The Bruce I remember would have never accepted a murderer.”   
  
Jeremiah smiled wide, and unsettling, eyes dead and yet alive, glittering with twisted amusement. “I just helped him open his eyes.”

At that exact moment, when the hour dedicated to the psychiatric visits started, Jongleur arrived, and as Jeremiah left the hall, he could hear Jim Gordon ask: “What do you mean? What did you do to him?!” 

Jeremiah chuckled as he walked in the corridors with Jongleur by his side.

“I suppose that this isn’t actually to bring me to Strange, right?” the redhead asked.   
  
Jongleur gave a little, barely there nod. “You are right. I’ve just some things to tell you, Jeremiah.”  
  
The boy sent the guard a questioning look, Jongleur quickly started reporting about the fact that the Cult was ever growing, some had even started painting the symbol of the Cult all over the walls of the buildings of Gotham city, focusing them in the safe places for the members of the Cult, then he told him about the fact that he had heard from other guards that Penguin was about to be released, now that Strange had dimmed him sane.

“ _Sane_ , uh?” Jeremiah repeated, halting Jongleur’s report, “I’d say that he is even worse than when he came in here.”

J ongleur nodded in agreement. “It’s almost pitiful to see the Penguin in this state.”

“Yeah, Strange clipped the bird’s wing and now is gonna release him back into the wild.” Jeremiah said, his tone almost grim and way too serious for the half-smile that bent his lips. “He’s gonna be eaten alive.”

“Well, at least we wont have to worry for him to find about how he got here in the first place.” Jongleur added, a slight smirk, once again similar to Jerome’s even though it looked different, somehow wrong to Jeremiah who nodded in agreement at the man’s affirmation. 

Then the smirk was gone, substituted by a slightly deranged smile as the guard continued his report, the two of them getting farther and farther away from the parts of the Asylum that were in use.

Jongleur told Jeremiah of an underground lab, founded by Wayne Enterprises, and connected to the Asylum, a lab were Strange and others were doing the most out-of-this world, cruel experiments, a lab were… Dwight worked as assistant.

“He did it.” Jongleur said abruptly after having finished of talking of this ‘Indian Hill’ lab.

Jeremiah stopped, his mind almost recoiling with the force with which those words registered in his brain, all of his thoughts halting, as hope soared in his heart before he squished it down before it got too much, too impossible to stop.

“He… did it?” Jeremiah repeated, voice almost too low, too weak for the person he always presented himself to be.

Jongleur nodded. “Not with Jerome… yet.” Jeremiah’s face fell unnoticeably, and his hope soured, withering like a wilting flower at that. Before a slight anger started filling his chest at being played like this, Jongleur’s words making his hope raise just to stomp them out, like the last embers of a fire. “But Dwight did it. They brought someone back to life, yeah They have to enhance some things, but… it’s possible. We can have Jerome back!”  
  
And the anger in Jeremiah’s chest disappeared just as quickly, like a fire doused with water, in hearing the elation in Jongleur’s tone, like the man too couldn’t wait for Dwight to finally deliver his promise.

“Are you sure, they weren’t lying?”  
  
Jongleur turned his face to him. “I’m sure, but I know that it’s difficult to believe… so, I brought here the proof that Dwight brought us.”  
  
Surely enough in a room, that could have been part of the guards’ section of this part of the Asylum, when it was still used, instead of locked off and abandoned, there was a tv-screen, on an old dusty desk, one of those used as a security monitor, with a tape-player over it, the TV was on and waiting to show something.

Jongleur, pushed a button on the tape-player. And the static footage on the screen started moving, the audio was scratchy and the quality not the best, a bit flickery, but Jeremiah could clearly see someone, laying on what looked like an examination table, body covered with a sparkly indefinite uniform that appeared to have melted with the skin, some part looked almost… _charred_ , burned in a way that reminded Jeremiah of the burns their sad excuse of an _uncle_ had more than once inflicted to him or Jerome, but somehow worse. 

Even if they looked somehow treated, the skin looking almost healed, though almost too shiny, plasticy near the edges of the melted uniform, though it was difficult to tell too much with how terrible was the quality of the tape. 

Two people, one of which was Strange so Jeremiah could safely assume that the other was the mysterious Dwight that had promised them,  _ him _ that he could bring his twin back, started circling around the examination table, putting electrodes on some points of the body.

Then Strange injected something, a liquid that almost glowed even in the lights of the room they were in.

A few moments passed, at first nothing happened, then Strange turned on some device on the side that wasn’t in view of the camera. And the body jolted, like it had been hit by a sudden electric charge, it happened two other times and then… the body  _ screamed _ .

Their eyes shooting open,  before who was once just a corpse tried to sit up, failing because of the restrains over their wrists and ankles .

Jeremiah heard Strange ask: “Do you know who you are?” To the resurrected body before the footage cut.

Jeremiah exchanged looks with Jongleur, before a wide smile slowly appeared on his face.

.

.

_ It was possible. _

_ Dwight hadn’t lied, they really could bring back the dead. _

_ Jeremiah could really have his brother, his twin, his everything back. _

“When Dwight tells you that they are ready to bring Jerome back, I want to know immediately.” Jeremiah said. “I want to be there when Jer opens his eyes again.”

And now he was sure that it was a ‘ _ when _ ’ and not an ‘ _ if _ ’, Jeremiah felt a weight, he didn’t even know was there, leave his shoulder and chest, his heart beat a little more lightly now, hope soaring freely in his chest.

Jongleur simply nodded.

“Of course, Jeremiah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to pick up ;)


	36. Chapter XXXV: And he had been casted out of Heaven, unjustly... and forgotten in Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his stay in Arkham continuing, and appearing to be never-ending, Jim Gordon feels like he is gonna lose his mind.

To be perfectly honest, with himself and even the others, though he really didn’t talk much with any of the other patients, most of them wanted him dead for something or another, and the others were to catatonic to be considered even, remotely, as conversation partners, when Jim met Jeremiah the day after his… rather disastrous, at least in his mind, visit, which had been disastrous in his mind because seeing Bruce accept him so wholeheartedly while believing that he was a murderer had left a bitter taste in his mouth, when he had met the redhead, he couldn’t help himself but be unsettled.

Jonathan, the other kid that had ended up in Arkham because of him, in a way (as he had been his father’s killer), started smirking in that rather disturbing way of his, that made it look like he was about to take the pastel he always had with him and stick it in someone’s eye, just to see if it was possible to kill someone with such a soft, easily breakable thing.

Which if possible made Jim even more uncomfortable and put him more on edge than Jeremiah happy attitude had done alone. _Honestly what could the redhead have or had done to put him in such a good mood? Surely something nefarious, though Jim couldn’t think of anything that was possible to do in the Asylum._

“Jonny-boy! Jimbo!” The Valeska said in a sort of greeting, Jonathan answered with a simple ‘’Miah’, strangely Jeremiah didn’t snap at him for that as he usually did, and Jim had to force himself to say even just the kid’s surname. Jeremiah rather theatrically sat down on the metallic bench, smile wide on his face and eyes sparkling in a way that Jim was sure they hadn’t since Jerome’s death, in the Gala. “Oh, Ozzie is already gone uh?”

Jim narrowed his eyes to the redhead, who just chuckled. 

“I didn’t do a thing to him, Jimbo. No need to ruffle all of your feathers, he was released.” 

Jim’s suspicion turned into confusion. “Released?” 

Jeremiah just nodded, before deciding that their conversation was over and starting one with Jonathan, Jim only half-listened to them, too lost in his thoughts to give them any attention.

  
It was absurd to think that Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, had been released, that must have been a lie on the boy’s part, but at the same time, no matter how much Jim distrusted Jeremiah Valeska. 

He knew that the redhead never lied, preferring to brandish the truth as a weapon, turning even the sweetest of truth into a razor.

So Oswald really must have been released, no matter how absurd the thought was. Arkham had just released a man that had tortured someone for days on hand before killing him by shoving his umbrella down his throat –and even though Jim knew the reasons behind Oswald’s profound hate, as the man himself had told him.–.

But then the Oswald that Jim had met arrived in Arkham wasn’t the same Oswald he remembered, he was weaker, scared, he seemed less like himself and more like a shadow of the man Jim knew. 

Though Oswald wasn’t the only person that Jim had met, since he was in Arkham that was changed from who he remembered. Though in this last case it had been the other that had visited him. 

_ Bruce.  _

The kid he saw as the son he had never had. Innocent, just Bruce smiling at him and telling him that he didn’t care if he had killed someone, that he was sure he had done it for the right reason.

All the while something dark, something that reminded him of the Valeskas, burned in his eyes.

And then discovering that the kid had been visiting Jeremiah Valeska since the redhead had been sent in Arkham for the second time, Jim sadly had come to the conclusion that the reason why Bruce was so different, he had been manipulated by Jeremiah. 

The Valeska had probably twisted his very thoughts, with his honeyed words, and his false innocence, and caring. He had took an innocent kid and tried to twist him to his liking. 

And at the same time Jim couldn’t do anything other than blame himself too for it. He should have been more… careful, he shouldn’t have let Jeremiah talk with Bruce in the first place, he had caved under a murderers words… and this was his result.

That Bruce had slowly been corrupted by Jeremiah, because the kid was too young and naive to realize that he was being manipulated.

.

.

Jim didn’t want to willow in his self-pity, didn’t want to let  _this place_ get into him, or worse let Jeremiah in his head… maybe even Jonathan, the kid had gotten way to interested into his reactions to his and Jeremiah’s disturbing discussions.

But he really didn’t have much to do, besides thinking. And thinking, and thinking of all the  things he had gotten wrong, all the thing he should have done,  his regrets filling his every thought. Filling his mind with useless ‘ _what if_ ’s, and ‘ _what could have happened had I_ ’s, and no matter how much he tried to not focus on that, there wasn’t all that much that he could do other than that.

Only Jeremiah’s discussion in their being almost insulting and condescending, were able to distract him from the caustic remorse that was starting to drip from his every thought.

In part even if he really didn’t want to he was beginning to resent his only friend, the only cop that hadn’t turn his back on him when he was framed, _why? Because Harvey had promised to get him out, he had,_ he had! And instead Jim was still here in this sort of hell on earth of an excuse for a real mental institution, still treated like he was one of the patients, still having to listen to a bored psychiatrist telling him that he had to be truthful in his tellings if he wanted to be helped, being told that he was in denial, and that he  _had_ done the killings but didn’t remember because he was suppressing the memories.

_Which wasn’t true!_   
  
He was innocent, innocent. But no-one believed him,… well not exactly no-one. Jeremiah Valeska, of all people, believed his words. Even though he teased him with them, even though he used them as knifes to cut at his ever-weakening check with reality, Jeremiah Valeska was utterly sure that Jim was telling the truth. 

Arriving so far to tell him that he had knew that it wasn’t his fault, that he had been framed, the moment he had been told of what had happened by his mysterious  _friends_ , because apparently for Jeremiah, he was too righteous to stoop so low to kill someone just because of the fact that they were allegedly corrupted cops.

And while Jim knew that he shouldn’t he drew comfort from the fact that at least one person believed to him, even if said person was Jeremiah Valeska, surviving leader of the Maniax, an arsonist, a homicidal psychopath that cared for none a part from his late brother and, apparently if Jonathan were to be believed, Bruce. ( _Still the thought of Jeremiah caring for Bruce and the feeling being mutual left a rather bitter taste in his mouth._ )

And he wasn’t quite sure on what that said about his sanity, if he was comforted that a declared insane criminal believed him. Maybe he really was slowly going mad in Arkham, being drove insane by his own thoughts, his own remorse and regrets. 

Maybe  if he had been a better person he wouldn’t be in this situation, hanging to all and everything that made him, himself by a spider’s silk-fine thread. And he was sure that if he ever was to break, Jeremiah would be there to pick up the pieces and remake him anew.

_ For better or worse.  _

_ And knowing Jeremiah? It would surely be for worse. _


End file.
